The Abyss Reader

I met Charlie at a party when he was fifteen. I was only a year older, but in high school that’s like a crate full of extra knowledge and awesomeness. He wanted to know about existentialism, which I had already gone through. I showed him the basics, but the little shit was eager to learn more and more. Teenage angst and what not. So, I lent him some of my books. Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Sartre, Camus… In two weeks the kid looked like he was thirty years old. In three he looked like he was sixty. After a full month of reading those things he looked older than fucking corpse. And a few days after that... Charlie just vanished. 

The abyss doesn't just look back at you. Sometimes it sucks you in, as well. Wherever he is now, I hope he’s happy...  I doubt it, though. Maybe I shouldn't have lent him those books...