It’s the one thing, the one experience that all of humanity shares with one another. One day, all you know and love just slips away. For some of us, it’s within a moment. Perhaps a car accident on the way to work or even just a minor misstep in the bathroom, causing us to tumble down into the sink, break our skulls and slip away before we can even process the moment. For others, it’s gradual, looming, perhaps even painful. To die of some disease like cancer or to just wear down in old age.
Such ideas are terrifying. It’s no wonder we have stories of Gods and an afterlife that are so engrained within our culture that, no matter what we truly believe, those ideas permeate through every facet of our lives, influencing anything to how we view the world to how we view even ourselves. Are we born in sin? Are we simply souls meant to be reborn until we gain enough karma to achieve transcendence? Or do we just fizzle away, back to that inconceivable, liminal space between the beginning of our universe until our birth?
It’s been my biggest fear for as long as I can remember. My family went to church where every Sunday we’d be told tales of sin and repentance, driving home the idea of eternal life for the holy and unending suffering for the wicked.
That’s a great deal of pressure on a little kid, no? I tried to live my life completely away from sin, praying for long hours deep into the night, begging for forgiveness whenever I could for any conceived transgression toward this almighty being that closely watched my every move.
And yet, no matter what, I couldn’t shake it. That damned eternal terror.
The fear of death.
The fear that no matter what, I’d suffer for eternity.
Perhaps even worse, the fear that there was nothing at all.
It became an obsession. One that became harder and harder to hide as time went on. When I started school I would ask teachers questions about what they thought happened after the big finale. Some told me the same story about the same man who died on that same cross that I’d heard so much about. Some refused to answer, told me to ask my parents. One teacher even called my mother out of concern of something going on at home. There was nothing wrong, of course. My parents were the best one could ask for. I guess my brain couldn’t shake it.
Strangely enough, my parents supported my curiosity, a luxury that I wouldn’t realize until much later in life when I came to find that many of the everyday faithful wouldn’t even dare to ask those sort of questions themselves, let alone support a child’s intrigue on the matter.
And thus, as I grew into an adult, my questions turned to organized study, and that organized study turned into eight years in college.
This was perhaps the best thing I had ever done. With every little detail I had learned, it was like an itch was scratched; like a little bit of that all-consuming fear I felt as a child was growing into something productive and meaningful. No longer was it a phobia; it was my calling.
I was going to find out what happened after we die.
Now, of course, there comes a day when we all learn. But I wanted to know before the final act. I thought that if I were to find this out, I’d bring about some great change in humanity. I still held true to my lifelong faith, but perhaps getting closer to true understanding could maybe, somehow, make us greater than any living thing or even concept that had ever existed.
So, with a small team of researchers at my university, we got to work.
We began by doing brain scans on patients at a local hospice center. With theirs and their family’s consent, we hooked them up to an EEG and closely monitored any and all readings up to the very last reading. All the while, we would ask of their beliefs. Of course, growing up in America, those beliefs were very consistent. The most interesting factor in this part of the experiment, however, was how those beliefs changed when death grew closer, especially in those who didn’t believe. Everyone, by the end, holds their faith in a higher power. On the EEG, brainwaves associated with fear were of course prevalent at the beginning of their journey, but as those beliefs intensified they began to calm. Most would even report long-gone relatives staying in the room with them, or voices from above shepherding them toward some sort of proper path.
However, nothing compares to our findings at the very moment of death.
In every single person tested out of nearly 200, there was approximately three minutes of brain activity that would go completely haywire. Readings of all kinds would spike. No real emotion could be picked out; it was almost as if they were experiencing every emotion at once. We would look upon their faces and see a look of complete awe, almost like a child looking upon something directly from their dreams. Most would cry. All were silent.
A state of complete catatonia as they withstand every emotion conceivable by man. And then, not even within a second, activity would cease, and they would be declared dead.
We continued this study for months, trying to make sense of our findings. It seemed like we were getting ever so closer as every day went by.
I suppose this was my mistake.
You never know what life will throw at you. Some days, your completely enthralled by life, waking up full of love and joy and expecting an even greater tomorrow. Sometimes, tomorrow doesn’t even come.
I was on my way to the hospice center when I spilled coffee on my lap. The burn caught me so off-guard that I desperately tried to clean it off with anything I had at my disposal. I ran through my napkins and stupidly began to grab at a shirt that I had in my back seat.
All I heard was a loud metallic bang, and everything cut to black.
I awoke with a powerful electric jolt in the seat of my car; rather, what was left of it. I don’t know how such a small action could have caused such destruction. Hell, I don’t even know if I managed to even touch the shirt I had stupidly tried to reach for. The rear of my car was sitting about 100 feet away from me.
And yet, despite all of this, I was unharmed.
I got out of my car to find three other vehicles involved in this horrific scene. I felt like I was going to vomit. Had I really caused all of this? Oh, lord Jesus, please let these people be okay. I ran to check on the blue minivan that was closest to me. The front had been completely smashed. I looked in the window to find an old woman bleeding profusely from a gash above her right eye. I tried desperately to open her door, yet to no avail. Soon, others began to rush upon the scene
“Please, please help me! She’s hurt! Someone ple-“
My cries fell upon deaf ears. They ran right past me, and opened the door with ease.
My heart sank. I looked around and found people helping the two other vehicles. I could see the occupant of a red sedan managing to exit their vehicle whilst holding onto their arm. They didn’t seem to be harmed too badly. I rushed to meet them, but they paid me no mind.
“Dude, look at me, are you okay?”
Not even a glance.
I felt horror consume me. I turned back to my car to find a large crowd gathered around the space between the front and back of my car. I seemed to have wrapped it around an electrical pole and it split in two. I began to walk over, and soon noticed, between the legs of the onlookers, a vague Visage of what looked to be a pool of blood.
My blood. I ran over, fearing the absolute worst. When I arrived, my fear was realized.
I didn’t even have to push past the crowd; I passed right through them.
They were gathered around my body, nearly split in two. Somehow, my physical form still lived, yet I was completely seperate from it. The image of watching my lungs desperately cling to any bit of breath they could catch through the gaping hole in my abdomen; seeing my lower intestine sprawled out along the street as horrified onlookers stood in somber silence at the arthouse gore film unfolding before them. I slowly walked over to my body, as if to reach out and feel my pallid skin to wake myself from this horrible nightmare.
I didn’t make it far.
As soon as I stepped into the puddle of blood, I sank.
Well, I suppose fell would be a more proper term. It was almost as if I was dragged into the ocean, careening down an endless expanse of red fluid. I was gripped with absolute terror. Was this it? Did I take my questions too far and solidify a place in hell? As I sank, it got darker.
I now seemed to be in a free fall through a dark expanse. No flashing of memories, no pearly gate nor rising flames; just an all-consuming nothing.
I felt myself hit some sort of solid ground, yet felt no pain from my seemingly endless descent. I slowly got up, and looked ahead of me.
There was a faint light at the end of what was seemingly a long tunnel. I began to walk toward it.
As I grew closer, the light became more omnipresent, and a distant chorus began to sound from wherever this light was emanating from. I tried to pick up the pace, but it was as if I was locked into a certain tempo. Unable to slow down, and unable to go faster.
Soon, I saw a silhouette. A tall figure with arms outstretched. The chorus grew louder. I knew exactly where I was. My faith had paid off. I was looking upon Christ himself. The voices sang the familiar hymns I knew since the days of my youth. A feeling of warmth and peace washed over me, greater than any earthly love that one could be granted.
A voice called out.
“Welcome home, my brother.”
Colors became more clear. Beyond the silhouette, I saw tinges of gold and blue sky that had been promised to me and my loved ones. My mind began to race of what paradise would truly entail. Would I be reunited with old friends and pets? Perhaps we were granted our own personal paradise, with any want and desire that we had ever held in our lifetime?
Shapes grew more clear. I looked and saw a golden castle overlooking a beautiful city, rich with activity and the most magnificent architecture that one couldn’t even imagine. It was almost like a mixture of Arthurian-esque London and a comfort-driven, futuristic New York City. Activity bustled through the streets. Laughter. Song. All waiting to welcome me amongst their ranks. The holy figure grew taller the closer I got, and soon I was right there before Him.
I immediately fell to my hands and knees and kissed the feet of my savior. I cried, thanking him for his blessing and watchful eye through all 36 years of my life. I promised to serve him in all ways that I could, for the rest of eternity.
I received no response.
In fact, I noticed that the chorus grew eerily faint, and soon what little remained fell completely silent. I looked beyond toward the Great utopia that had been layed before me to find that it had grown completely hazy; a mere mirage that one would see as if stuck in the desert for days on end. Where did they go? Where was I? What was happening?
I had been taught that I should never look into the eyes of the Lord, but I was overwhelmed with fear and curiosity. I slowly drew my gaze upward, pleading for an explaination.
Soon, my eyes met his.
Except they didn’t.
He had no face.
I felt a wave of panic wash over me. The city and castle in the distance went from hazy to completely washing away into nothing, and soon my Lord began to succumb to the encompassing deterioration of paradise.
Then, in those last few moments, I realized something.
Oh my God.
I finally understood. My life’s work, all coming to this point.
My panic soon gave way to a peace unlike any I had ever known. My Lord began to fizzle away, and soon all began to fall silent.
My three minutes were up, and with it, I received the knowledge I had sought my whole life.
(Got bored and wrote a story for the first time since school. Pls critique and call me names, thank u)