I knew in that moment that nothing could hide me from the specter’s grasp, for he was the only real thing in this world. I clutched at my hospital blanket to cower from the intensity of the Reaper’s presence, but the once soft cotton now flowed like translucent mist through my hands. This is why we were taught without words to fear death.
Reality flowed around his scythe like a brush through water colors, and I could see each elementary particle and time itself sunder across its blade. It was as though seeing a tiger after a lifetime of looking at a child’s crude drawing and thinking that’s all a tiger was. The less real my room became, the more real the figure was, until presently it existed in such sharp actuality that nothing beside it seemed real at all. It was transforming into a figure beside me. With each passing moment, the world was becoming less real…īut all that sight and sound – all that being – it wasn’t simply disappearing. It seemed as though every sound was an echo of what it once was every sight a reflection.
I was still in the hospital room, but the bustle of nurses and the beeping machines lost their opacity as though I was mired in swiftly descending dusk. What if it isn’t death which is to be feared? What if it is what lies beyond?Īnd so troubled did I slip beyond mortal understanding, stepping into a world as far forsaken by reason as I was now from life.
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