A dead man elaborates on what it is like after you die.
|You probably couldn’t have guessed it, but you are closer to purgatory than you think. You could be right next to a phantasmal someone without even knowing it, because when you die, you don’t go anywhere. You are to stand right where your body died. I know this because I’m dead, and trust me, I would have sat down if I could. Though you have no tension or stress like your human body would have had, you still crave to be closer to that old ball of matter we call home. I know it sounds weird, but it you stand long enough you miss how convincing gravity was and you start to get a twisted sense of homesickness. The only purpose for standing I can think of is for us to be ready for our judgment if or when it is given to us. I say “if”, because all of us can only guess.
Disappointment creeps in when you realize all of your guesses about death were wrong and, worse, you have to keep guessing even after “the end.” I’ve thought about where I stand and what will happen, only to arrive at the conclusion that we are all waiting. Waiting for who or what? I don’t know, but there’s sure no consideration for our time spent. Yeah, “spent” and with no returns or at least none that I can recognize. Nothing is gained from my position other than watching the world form around me in quiet patience. The people around me walk around me, passed me, and through me, because I’m not there. I am no difference to them and I am no longer a part of their world, so what accomplishment could my time yield? What thoughts haven’t I had? Will anything change? All of these questions linger with no answer just as my time does. For, time to me, is nonexistent.
Without the ghastly colorless people that walk in and out of my life I would have no reference for time, but that’s a blessing in disguise. Though my thoughts may be a repeating reel, the events and people that happen around me are more pronounced now that I have no other choice but to just look. Consider it like living in a television screen in one scene, where the character’s sounds are muffled. Sounds like hell at first, but I have assured myself that this could not be hell. Hell’s torture of the senses would be continuous and unrelenting, as I have thought of the perfect hell. A hell in which all of the senses are null and the only thing you are dammed to have is your consciousness. The knowledge that “you are” with none of the comforts of the physical world to tell you anything that would keep you sane. That is hell and this is a holding tank. Keeping all of us entertained by the world we once knew so that we can still have flowing thoughts. Allowing us to see our world and hear each other is our only respite that provides comfort in the slightest. Yes, hear each other.
Humanity is only preserved through social contact and so is sanity. Now, silence is a common occurrence, but when you have forever to comment and conceive, there is bound to be a few quiet instances in the mix. More than that, I am surprised how chatty dead people can be. We are so wide spread that I once heard a death story from a guy from across the continent. He got shot over a small mountain in a cannon for a TV show. Poor slub had the rotten luck of having the cannon aimed too low. Those viewers should be sued for just watching such crap. Ever since my death and my time spent here I can’t help but cherish my memories from when I lived. It makes me stand humorless in the face of that story and all others like it. People just toy with life and death and they don’t even know the surprise ending.