“What’s your problem, Davie?”

“I see a bird. With tits. That’s not good.

Mortals end is boring, follows
boring reasons. Usually it’s wounds and diseases their body can’t confront. And what is an immortals end? Your body has no fear of every kind of wound, you don’t need to feed it, no disease can take it, no ages.

 However, there’s always a catch. In this realm, at least.

 End of mortal is distant and known to come when needed. Your end is always here, with you. It is in your head. You named it the Delusion, the curse of your kind. A creature, invisible to other eyes, comes asudden, it exhaust not your body but your mind until you turn into nothing, until you become insane, until people kill you for your crime.  It takes you home you was stolen from, child of the Desert. An end a poet would envy.

You’re walking along the street and you see that someone has drawn a line in red chalk across the pavement. You don’t think too much about it, and you walk right past. Erick von Trouserschnaut the local hobo stops you and says “You walked across my line. That means you gave implicit consent for me to to take $1,000 from you.” You say “Okay Erick.” Then you ignore him and keep walking. What sort of man is Erick von Trouserschnaut?

You start picking mangoes in your orchard. By picking these mangoes, it is claimed that you have given implicit consent for Ermington Flecherman of 16 Neighbourson Drive to take a bite out of every single mango. If you don’t allow Ermington Flecherman to take a bite out of every single mango, you will be locked in his basement. What kind of man is Ermington Flecherman?

You have an employment contract with an employer. That means you give your implicit consent for the tax office to take a percentage of your money. If you don’t allow them to take your money, you will be locked up. What kind of people work at the tax office?

The child destined to be a writer is vulnerable to every wind that blows. Now warm, now chill, next joyous, then despairing, the essence of his nature is to escape the atmosphere about him, no matter how stable, even loving. No ties, no binding chains, save those he forges for himself. Or so he thinks. But escape can be delusion, and what he is running from is not the enclosing world and its inhabitants, but his own inadequate self that fears to meet the demands which life makes upon it. Therefore create. Act God. Fashion men and women as Prometheus fashioned them from clay, and, by doing this, work out the unconscious strife within and be reconciled. While in others, imbued with a desire to mould, to instruct, to spread a message that will inspire the reader and so change his world, though the motive may be humane and even noble – many great works have done just this – the source is the same dissatisfaction, a yearning to escape.
—  Daphne du Maurier