Yes That Essay

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I am nothing but a rotting corpse now, a bloodless cadaver at the bottom of the Dardanelles. There is this eerie feeling consuming what appears to be my spirit: its as if my freshly discovered ‘inner being’ if you like, is trying to break free of this spiritual amalgamation with my remains. Since I can’t feel my wounds or shattered ribs, I ponder: why is my spirit unable to escape its mortal coil? Is this what life after death feels like? An eternity of discomfort and ambiguity? Maybe I have not been able to flee my lifeless body because there is some purpose remaining. To come to think of it, I have not received the glorious funeral an influential and celebrated man such as myself should be entitled to. For nearly eight days I have been missing, my wife and children must be enquiring after my whereabouts. Or perhaps, they have falsely been lead to believe that I am attending to pressing matters of trade in the city by the wretch who conspired my death. How can my spirit possibly escape my body and proceed to this promised heaven for the kind-hearted, when I’m surrounded by a slew of unsettling thoughts? If there truly is a God, then I beg you to give my family a message. Tell them to find my murderer, tell them to avenge me! I desire to have every bone in that fiend’s body splintered and every patch of living skin to be peeled slowly and painfully, until the creature is rendered comatose. Yes! This is my final wish as I depart into the Afterlife. I must be avenged, for even if I am put to rest in the most magnificent and grand tomb, I cannot truly rest unless my growing thirst for revenge is satiated. Allow my soul to find peace, I implore mercy for any past transgressions but I cannot compromise on my need for the murderer to meet his end. It’s been over two weeks, and I feel somewhat optimistic. Lying a thousand feet under a secluded water body with my

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