the story of my death, part 3

She was a scared little girl, alone and confused in this big bustling hurly burly of a world. Peering out at the boisterous marketplace below her gaze, an eerie and desperate look of bewilderment appeared upon her face, causing her striking and dramatic features to take on character and drama beyond their usual pensive presentation. It was the look of a confused and frustrated student, who reading the work of some great master of antiquity pulls her nose out of the book for air, as she comes face to face with the realization that it seems this esteemed and enlightened leader may not shape up to her fancy after all. It was a look of shock, of disgust, abhorrence and above all else betrayal. This betrayed look seemed to appear so often that it almost took on a life of its own and slowly came to signature her persona.
A poignant awareness perpetually trailed after the girl, sometimes invading her artificially erected barriers and enveloping her completely. It was the awareness of chaos, the chaos that hovered over every electron cloud, chaos that saturated, no, that was the very stuff of existence itself. There were moments when this chaos seemed inescapable, as if the constant linger that she was always passively aware of somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind was in fact unavoidable, ontological perhaps. The gnawing sense of confusion resided permanently within her, some might even say stemmed from her, and it was because it seemed to have truly been born into her very flesh and innards, she could in truth never escape it.
It was the sense that frustrated her so, the simultaneous sense of nothingness and absolute truth; the notion that all the world was truly hevel, including herself, and yet at the same time, the nagging sense that cosmic significance of monumental magnitude lay within her grasp, waiting for her to uncover; lay within her very self.
The self; a dual, visceral sense of terror and ecstasy both surged through and sprung up from the depths of her hollow stomach every time she considered the reality of the self. It was all she had, and yet it was indeed so indefinable, a mere fluctuating combination of fleeting urges and whims that all seemed so undependable, unpredictable, unstable. At times she felt herself lost in the chaos of the black hole deep in the middle of her hollow stomach. The moments of space time slowed infinitely as she crossed over the event horizon and, stretching down into the unknown, broached upon the universe of The Other. And falling endlessly into the pipeline to this yet undiscovered plane of existence, she would lose herself, completely…to the powerful X-rays that would surge through her frail form of flesh, destroying her entirely. This was the expensive price that she was fully aware of, at times even felt herself coerced into paying. For without destruction we will never truly get outside of ourselves, never truly discover the truth that is grander than us, yet paradoxically resides within us at once.