We no longer fear the punishments of the grave or life in foreign countries.
They’re all dead now, the well-intentioned women who warned us about hymens and whoredom. We angry teenagers, starring in our own nightmares, have morphed into pillars of the family. We wear glasses because our eyesight is weak and swallow painkillers in the middle of the night.
We’re like those soldiers who imagine they’ll recover their dignity once the king has left the scene. We’ve become our singular selves, the whole company of us, and now face the harvester’s scythe.
We got old with no warning, before we understood that this is what happens when your dreams come true.
Competing Interests
The authors have no competing interests to declare.