We’re back with something I made a while ago, but nevertheless I find it still relevant because of the topic I was trying to express at the time. I don’t know why but I always find the act of dying or the act of being near-death to be something alike poetic. I have a myriad of stories revolving that of the after-death or being in death and it really shows just how much I love the topic. This was a very short one and so it redeems itself as a short story but it’s a rather morbid one at that. Just a man experiencing what we will all some day. But don’t let it get you too down, here it is “…”
The pavement felt cold. It was…. oh so cold. The cold pavement caressed my skin and wrapped around me like a distraught mother. It was clinging onto my body, and I couldn’t escape. I struggled to break free, but the more I tried, the harder it was to move. It was like quicksand, yet there was a subtle vibration through the ground that made it calming. It was like being held in a rocking chair. The back and forth sway made me feel nauseous and yet, lightheaded. Almost as if I was floating.
I looked around, I couldn’t remember where I was, or what had happened in the past few hours or so. My head was ringing. It was ringing loudly, a loud inhuman buzzing that would have made the normal man break. It was like a siren’s wail, calling me into the afterlife. My eyes adjusted, at last, a liquid pouring out as I blinked into existence. The sky was dark red, the color all too…. familiar. I couldn’t turn my head for the life of me. I couldn’t move. There was no point in moving. I simply sat, rocking, staring up at the velvet sky.
As I tried to tense the muscles in my hand, I could feel an immediate response. It was a sharp pain, quick and silent. I tried to overcome it, but I soon realized that my nerves weren’t working with me anymore. At one point, my hand simply flopped back down, onto the cold pavement. I couldn’t even tell what I was wearing. Whether I had any clothes on or not, whether I had, anything to live for, whether I actually mattered.
They say, that people see the “light” when they’re about to die. They relive their past, they get hit with nostalgia so intense, that it seems almost vivid, giving them hope and then being hit with the harsh reality. Some people lived good lives, abiding by laws, being a friendly neighbor, but other people would rather see the whole world burn. But tell me, why is it that anyone can see this light? Is it such that our god discriminates amongst no one? That everyone is treated equally? Surely you jest. For I remember of such people who are not, no matter where they are. Discrimination is a human emotion, no… it’s part of being human.
I opened my mouth, and tried to mutter some words. “I…..Is….” No luck. I guess no one would want to help me either. I’m just a lifeless doll on this cold hard pavement, wasting away, waiting for something to happen. I don’t remember my name, my past, or even how I died. Hah, I guess I’ve come to realize that I have died. Or at least, I’m near death. I’m at a state where I’ve transcended between the living and the dead, yet…. why must I be tortured? I can feel the pain, and I can feel the waves of blood waiting to gush out of my mouth as I struggle, yet…. why won’t I just die?
I closed my eyes, cleared my mind, and hoped, hoped that at any second, my bodily functions would shut down, that I would finally be given a proper farewell. But nothing happened, nothing…. would happen. I’m left lifeless here on this cold floor, doomed to linger as a parcel of death, drowned in the sea of nothingness. A life so pitiful that one would wish they could ingest their own organs. Such an act, is one that I would not mind.
The only thing I wish at this moment, is if I could at least remember whether I had a child or not. Some people would do anything for life eternal. The desire to never die, never feel pain, to always be relevant. Yet, we already have something similar. Our offspring is a living representation of us. In a way, we become immortals through our children. If the only glimmer of hope lived in my son or daughter, then I would gladly take a thousand bullets, eat a bowl of nails and plunge into the abyss. There is nothing in this world more holy and benevolent than seeing your child grow into a person more suitable than yourself.
I continued to seal my eyes shut, hoping that the world around me would just crash. Suddenly, as I had began falling into a deep trance, a voice echoed at the back of my head. It was calling for me. It was…. crying for me. It didn’t stop, and before I knew it, the only thing I could hear was this insatiable cry. I couldn’t make it stop. I didn’t want it to stop. It was giving me worth, telling me that someone, somewhere wants me. That I was made for someone, that …. it was going to be okay. The crying intensified and it grew so loud to the brink of blood hurdling. It buzzed and buzzed and yet… I was glad to be drowned in these cries. It never stopped, not even for a second, and as I could finally find a break in the ghastly cries, everything went blank.