I’m wandering around somewhere inside. I don’t know where, maybe a kitchen, but it’s not important. What’s important is that I’m texting dad, asking him what happened. He says he can’t come back, and I don’t understand why. I’m texting him, so he has to be somewhere. He doesn’t know either, and he says he can’t explain how he’s talking to me. I don’t want to think too hard about it, but I also can’t stop wondering. I tell him I missed him, and I want him to come back, but I know he won't. I'm happy to talk to him, even though I know he is dead.

Dad is driving me to go meet up with some former coworkers in Boston. I know he’s dead so I’m really impatient to get out of the car and hug him before he goes away again, but he parks the car and then disappears as soon as I get out.

I’m standing in the kitchen, looking at a candle burning on the stove. Dad and mom are in their room, and everyone is happy because dad is back. But we all know it’s only temporary; when you bring someone back like that they only have a little bit of time. We don’t know what’s going to happen but we know he has to die again, and soon. We all try to make the most of the time we have and ignore the cloud that hangs over us, and him.

I’m in the house, and I see dad. I know he’s dead, but I’m glad to see him. I ask him if it’s okay if I take some of his beers, since no one else drinks them, and he says it’s fine.

The whole family is sitting in the living room, and dad is standing in the corner next to the couch. I can’t tell if anyone else can see him, but he is there. He’s acting like everything is normal, and so is everyone else. I start to cry and tell my mom I can see him, he’s right there. She starts to cry too.

My little brother comes to help me move out of my dorm, and dad is with him. I pull my brother aside and ask him what happened, how did he get dad back? He says “No, it’s not dad, I just said it was because I thought it might help.” I looked back at him. “But I see dad. He’s right there” Danny shakes his head. “It’s not him, it’s Carla.” I do a double take, but it’s still my dad smiling at me. I don’t understand.

This time, it’s not dad who’s in trouble. It’s my partner this time, not my mom’s. My whole family is there, and Taylor is overdosing, and I don’t know what to do. I try to call 911 but there’s no one on the other end. I look out the window because I think the ambulances are still parked on the street, but they’re gone. My brother tells me he has less than a half hour to live. Someone else calls 911, but still no one comes. I’m helpless, and I watch him die.

Bike crashed down and hit the ground

my blood flowed out, the hit was hard

i still remember the pain i had

dark topped my eyes,the pain is gone

The light seems brighter than ever in night

silence crept along the night

the hit was hard, am i still alive?

Open your eyes,you are still alive

someone whispered, but never know who

i opened my eyes,the place seems new

my body seems heavier,I left it back

the place was flooded in tears of one

whom i never bothered in life

time to go,I heard a voice

Left my world and here i stand,

my body is gone,but never my soul.

No one dies, I can see them all

when the time arrives, the body seems null

the hit was hard, am i still alive?

the body will go, when time arrives

but never the soul,it will survive

forever,forever and ever....

#afterlife,#soul,#lightsgoout,#fiction,#shortpoem,#poem,#afterlife

https://theprose.com/write?challengeId=7530

“Cold.”

I open my eyes.

“Dark.”

I blink a few times. The darkness swimming before me doesn’t fade — it only lessens as seconds drip by, grows less overwhelming until I can see rock above me. My fingers twitch, numb and tingling as if I’ve fallen asleep on my arm.

I reach out around me.

“Soft, cool, damp.”

The ground beneath me feels unsteady — it shifts when I sit up, sticks to my hair until I reach up to brush it off of my skin.

“Sand,” I think. Suddenly I can smell brine. Suddenly I can see a prick of light off in the distance, minuscule and insignificant in all of this darkness.

But I don’t feel afraid.

I stand up and look down. It’s too dark to see but I can feel sand beneath my feet, can feel a breeze whisper over my skin.

There are no thoughts in my head besides ones about where I am. Nothing else matters but reaching that light. Not my name — which I don’t remember. Not how I got here — which is dark and foggy. Not even where here actually is.

So I walk.

I walk and I walk and I walk.

The light grows larger and larger and larger — until I can see that it’s the entrance to this tunnel I’m in. It yawns wide and free in front of me, the light bleeding in from outside to turn the sand bone-white, to pierce my fragile eyes.

I stop, blink a few times until my vision clears. A stronger breeze blows here. It tangles through my hair, runs gentle fingers over my bare skin. I look down at my hands first — they’re young hands, soft and unblemished. Then I look up.

A shore stretches out before me — white sand, silver waves, a full moon in a sky as dark as the tunnel I woke up in. The sea glows as if it has swallowed all of the stars in the sky — an image turned upside down if only the moon weren’t still there, hanging large and luminescent.

All at once I remember one thing.

I am dead.

The memory washes over my skin, prickles and bites. I feel nothing but a cold, distant sense of logic.

I am dead and this is what comes after death.

My feet move of their own accord. They take me down the shore, slipping through sand as fine as silk, until I’m standing at the edge of the sea.

The waves are still. The ocean rests motionless, as if caught in time — a black and white photograph.

But between the space of one slow breath and another, a flicker of light colors the air in front of me. It’s colorless — nothing more than a spark of flame until it grows and grows and grows, hovering there above the water that glows like starlight.

“A human? No… something more than that,” my brain whispers, gossamer-light.

A being stands before me — faceless, shifting, as bright as the moon. They are silent until a voice not my own reaches my thoughts.

“Do you know why you are here, William?”

William. My name bubbles up from the depths of my memories, one more piece to the puzzle.

“I’ve left the living,” I answer simply, honestly.

“And do you remember how?”

I hesitate. The memory is there, I can feel it. I reach for it carefully.

“I passed in my sleep,” I answer slowly. “I was 95.”

The being shivers and shifts before me, throwing sparks into the water below them.

“Do you know where you are now?”

I look around at the surroundings that are just now beginning to feel strange as more time trickles by — the luminescent water, the crags of dark, black rock that rise up behind me, the bloated moon and the infinite sky.

“No,” I respond.

The divine being shudders once more. More sparks fall to the sea.

“This is a world between worlds,” they murmur. “A place of judgement.”

Judgement. Something in my memories twitches at the word, something sharp cuts at my heart.

But I don’t have time to dwell on it.

“Do you remember your sister?”

A laugh reverberates from the air at the being’s words — the sound wraps around me, dances away across the waves like a ghost.

I look down the beach — and I see her.

“Elise.” The name leaves my mouth in a whisper, is carried away by the sea-salt breeze — but the girl down the beach doesn’t look up. She continues to stare out at the water, her long, white-blonde hair blowing out behind her. The strands catch the light of the stars in the ocean and burn.

Suddenly, I remember this beach. I remember running down it as kids with my sister, remember my parents watching from farther up the shore. I remember her laugh — it had been one of the last things I had heard before falling asleep. Before dying.

“Do you remember what that man did to her?”

My eyes snap away from the illusion. Something cold and dark is seeping into my lungs — another memory.

“No,” I choke out. Not because I don’t remember — because I don’t want to remember.

But the images come unbidden, intrusive. Elise — her dress torn down the front, limping through the door. Her face bloodied and bruised — crying at first and then going silent for days until one name had slipped from between her lips at my insistence, at my rage.

“Do you remember what you did to him?”

I gasp on my own breath, choke on it. I look down and my hands are covered in crimson. Blood drips from my fingertips to the white sand below.

I see a man with a knife in his chest. I see a fire. I feel the rage in my stomach and taste the ash on my tongue.

“Stop,” I try to say. Suddenly the waves of the strange ocean are moving — crashing, thundering, swelling up to the shore and then stopping as if hitting a glass wall.

“Was it worth it?”

The memories disappear. I am left with the voice in my head and the roar of the furious sea. Something wet drips down my face, my chest heaves with unsteady breaths. I am afraid once more — afraid like I had been in the land of the living, resting there on my death bed, watching time slip by with the slow scud of the clouds across the sky, waiting for the cold to spread from my fingertips to my heart.

But my answer is clear.

“Yes,” I whisper from between trembling lips. “Yes.”

The ocean’s growl grows louder, the waves begin to crest higher.

Elise is gone when my eyes slide back down the shore. I am alone.

“And how do you think you should be judged?”

My eyes raise to rest on the being before me. They’re still, steady, no longer flickering or wavering — a beacon of light in a dark, dark sky.

The sea rises like a wall of fire behind them, countless stars held within its depths — burning silver and ragged gold and incomprehensible black.

And suddenly — standing there, facing judgement — the fury and the pain and the fear fade from my bones. I don’t think about mercy or punishment. I don’t wonder about damnation or sanctuary.

All I see is the color of Elise’s hair — glowing silver all around me.

I straighten my shoulders, my answer resting on the tip of my tongue — and I speak.

Although a physical appearance may not appear,

My spirit will still be here.

In the air in which you breathe,

in the wind between the trees.

In the storms which may cause fear,

my spirit will still be here.

When you think no one is watching,

I‘ll be watching you.

When you think no one is there,

I’ll be there for you.

When you‘re feeling sad and lonely, not knowing what to do,

My spirit will still be guiding you.

When you’re in a bad situation,

I’ll never leave your side,

Through good times and the bad,

cast all your feelings aside,

For I am happier than ever,

that I may be your spiritual guide.

I won’t be there to judge you,

but to help you through your mistakes,

And to encourage you,

when you have the world to undertake.

Never think of me as gone,

but as a spirit guiding you dusk till dawn.

My love and spirit will always carry on.

The final curtain, the last act

No new morrows

Only this moment

The last chapter of an otherwise fulfilled story

Where do we go from here?

Are we swept away by a gentle breeze?

Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust

Ceasing to exist

Port closed, eyes shut,

First lived, now died,

Happily ever after

Challenge of the Week XC - everafter

REINCARNATION & KARMA

There is a built-in reset button at the dawn of each of our lives. The natural progression of life (birth, old age, sickness, and death) spares no one. The life cycle may be shorter for some, and longer for others. Without exception, death comes.

RESET!

We are born again. We start over with a new life, with no memory of anything before. The natural progression of life (birth, old age, sickness, and death) continues to roll. All thoughts and actions during our life cycles have consequences, some immediate and others accumulate for later. Without exception, all consequences come around, whether now or in a later life.

RESET!

A new life begins. We start over, but not without consequences.

RESET!

“Welcome to the afterlife.” The grinning woman says to me as I opened my eyes. “How may I help you today?”

“What, you are you?” I say looking around. I’m sitting in a squeaky wooden chair in a room with tan colored walls. “Where am I?”

The woman sighs. “Let me guess another surprise death.” She types on a laptop with llama stickers on the back of her screen. “Yep, defiantly surprised. Cardiac arrest, you never saw it coming.”

“But I’m only 23.” I lean forward. “I was in the grocery store.”

She sighs. “You had an unknown heart defect since you were born. These things happen. Sorry dear.”

“But I’m getting married next month.”

She shrugs. “And your funeral is tomorrow. What’s your point?” She sighs. “Listen, I’m sorry. But I have a lot of new entrants I have to process. You need to decide.”

“Decide?” I say. “Decide what?”

“Where you want to go?” She types. “According to this you have three options. You can go to heaven…popular choice but boring. You can be reincarnated as a bird. I recommend a cassowary. Sorry, not enough Karma points to go back as a human. Or…”. She stops and her eyes go wide. “You have the option to become a reaper.”

“A reaper. Like be a skeleton with a scythe.”

She laughs. “My fat ass is defiantly not a skeleton.”

“You’re a reaper?”

She nods her head. “Let me tell you it’s not all fun and games. We process the new souls and send them where they need to go. Despite what Fox News tells you most people are the good sort and go straight to heaven. Sending people to hell is actually easier because only the baddie bads go there. Rapist, murders, wall street brokers… you know the scum of society.”

“Why am I allowed to be a reaper? What’s the criteria?”

“Let me see.” She smiles and types. “According to this when you were ten..you pushed a little boy out of the way of a passing car. You broke both of your legs..”

I frown. “I remember that. I was in the hospital for a long time but he was fine.”

“Right.” She says. “Only those who risk their own lives for others know the value of life. The choice is yours but you have to make it quickly. If you decide on being a reaper and change your mind you can alway do either of the other options.”

I stop to think. “So consequences for quitting.”

“None what so ever. It will give you something to do. How about a trial run?”

I stop to think. “Ok. I’ll try a trial run.”

She claps her hands happily. “Excellent. Good luck.” She snaps her fingers.

I am suddenly on the other side of the desk. A pink laptop is in front of me. I look at the back of the screen and theres a picture of a cassowary.

“Who are you? Where am I?” A voice says.

I look at the young man sitting on the chair in front of me. I smile and using my best customer service voice. “Welcome to the afterlife. How may I help you today?”

It wasn’t like opening your eyes. It is more like an unconscious movement outside. The loudness from background noises are gone and replaced with the sounds of soft wind and calm silence. She couldn’t feel the nervousness of mortality but knew there was something she was forgetting. The memory of everything she was dropped slowly from the bottoms of her feet and breath made way for connection.

Once afraid to open a text to find out what horrible regrets she had to process, was now replaced with celestial bravery while she felt her cells turn to light. “Why would anyone wait 100 years to feel this freedom? What happiness on the physical plain could ever compare to this?” Ran through what was left of her earthly consciousness. That soon changed to colorful hues and a far away whisper, familiar and elegant. She moved toward this call without effort. Magnetism replaced struggling while she was quickened into energy and the whisper laid out its welcome.

If there is a heaven ,

Beethoven is there.

I wonder,

did he reach the rest

that he faild to find in life?

And with this peace,

will he have composed

more symphonies?

Would schubert,

who was practically a neighbor,

in their hometown,

finally find the courage

to talk to the

older master?

Would they collaborate?

Is heaven filled with newness,

with renewall,

or with an endless nostalgia?

If there is heaven,

Lincoln is there.

does he sit content,

in those hights,

unaware of things in the now?

or does he compose speeches ,

as he did,

with Martin Luther King,

and perhaps Gandhi,

until the time that the truth

rings out again in living ears?

Do the spirits even care,

once their load is dropped,

that we are still bleeding?

If there is a heaven,

Could you possibly meet those

that you never knew?

or are the networks

of aquiantances ,

that so restrict us in life,

still hold us back when we’ve done?

could we walk to a stranger

and shake his hand,

without fear of disgust or contempt?

Finally, lord I ask, if there is heaven,

do we learn what were your thoughts?

how you took and gave and built and flooded?

will we in heaven, know of the plan at last

so that we feel less bereived?