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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1604844-What-Happens-When-We-Die
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Experience · #1604844
A woman dies violently at the hands of another and experiences the passover.
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE DIE

By:  Angela A Tahara


I stare down at the side of my abdomen in disbelief at the dark bloody wound between my trembling fingers.  The hole is too big and I can’t stop the blood from spilling out.  Is this how I die then?  There is no pain.  He runs away clutching the smoldering shotgun.  It is so quiet and everything in my sight is so crisp and clear. 

The room swirls and I collapse hard on my knees.  I scream at the pain that suddenly surges through my every nerve as my intestines try to spill past my now clenched fists.  Flopping to the ground in a puddle of my agony I try to roll onto my own entrails to push them back inside of me.  The pain stops!  Sweet Jesus the pain stops.  Oh, thank you, I moan, but no sound comes from my mouth.

I’m not alone.  I hear scuffling and feel fear all around me and know it must be the return of the assassin.  I lay completely still, holding my breath and playing dead so he will lose interest and go away.  I hear him moving around the room but don’t dare look up to see what he is doing.

“He can’t hurt you,” I felt a voice say.  I didn’t hear a voice, but rather I felt a thought coming through the air and settling into my mind.  I waited, confused by my attackers’ presence and this strange sensation at once.

“It’s okay,” it said, “you can get up.”

Gingerly I opened my eyes and looked around.  I saw my murderer, but he was below me, faded in a fog and clumsily dragging a body out a door. 

“THAT BASTARD” I roared with a mouth I no longer owned but a thought that was still mine.

“He will get his,” said the voice.

Wanting to confront the new voice in my space, it suddenly appeared before me.  Shocked to my core, it was the same smile as my own.  It was my younger brother whom I had lost 22 years earlier in a car accident that claimed his life.  He looked the very same as he had when he left at the age of 25.

“Darren,” I squealed in delight.  “Is that really you?  Are we…..are we …...”

“Dead.  Yes, sis, we are.  Welcome home.”   

“But, b…” I stammered, reaching for him with one hand, and pointing to the scene below with the other. I gasped and gurgled some noises in my head at once.  Terror at what just transpired had finally hit home.  My husband had killed me.

“I know,” Darren said soothingly.  An incredible surge of love embraced my entire being with the same intensity as the pain I felt moments before, but with a sweetness one hundred times greater than a mothers love for her baby. 

“You have been through a lot in a short time.  You need to grieve and heal.  Everything will be fine, sweetie.”

“What about my kids?” I whispered, “Will he go after my kids?”

“No, your children have a long life path ahead of them.  You can watch them and help them and before you know it, they will be old men and you will be united again.”

I wasn’t convinced.

Darren smiled.  “I wasn’t convinced either and you have been through a pretty rough time.  Let’s cross over so you can start to heal.”

“What’s on the other side?”  I knew just as I asked.  I recalled being a part of a brilliant light.  I was a particle brighter than some and less than others, but no less important, as we all are equal and unique to the brightest particle; the Nucleus that is All.  Each individual remains the same personality as we were on the earth plane, complete with prejudices and negatives, positives and compassions, but our thoughts are naked and open to the Nucleus, and so to, to everyone else.  The truth must be faced and therein lies the deeply personal judgment to our sins and compassions

As I thought it, I returned to where I originated.  A happiness ten-fold of what I had put out in my life had engulfed me as I flowed freely in eternal peace.  It was confirmed; I did well in life.




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