It's dark. It's quiet. I can't move or see; I can't even sense if I still have a body. Even my consciousness keeps fading in and out, so I can't be sure if I'm really still in existence. I am literally nothing, teetering on the edge of dissolving into the black nothingness pressing around me — if I hadn't already. Why is it so quiet? Am I really here? . . . Where is "here"? Why am I . . . "here"? Oh, wait . . . that's right. I remember.
So, this is what death feels like.
Something slips through and I study it in dulled curiosity. It's fear: just a tiny pinpoint, but I recognize the emotion capable of crippling living beings into utter immobility. Right now, however, it feels so small and insignificant as I struggle to put one thought to another. Then it connects; in the darkness of death I feel a stir of panic. Is this what it means to die? To be alone in a darkness so pure and condemning? To exist in silence so thick that there couldn't be any hope of hearing anything ever again? But that wasn't the worst part: the blankness was most terrifying of all. I couldn't remember anything. I was only aware I was dead, so aware. Beyond that there was nothing. My name, my identity, my life. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!
I want to scream. All I can do, however, is drift quietly.
Eventually I catch something. My entire existence freezes over and I strain to make sure it wasn't a delusion; maybe death was driving me insane? How ironic that would be. But no, I hear it again, faint like quiet music in a bellowing city. What I'm hearing is a beat: a rhythm so steady that I feel as if centuries pass in between. It could certainly be possible because this place seems timeless. I can't tell whether seconds or years are going by.
The beat quickens, albeit very slowly, and the realization that it's the sound of a heartbeat — of my heartbeat — begins to bring me to the surface. I blink eyes I can't remember possessing and lift an unfamiliar hand up to an unfamiliar face. Fingers brush numbly over cold skin as the darkness steadily lightens. It's turning into a pale ashen; I blink again. Pale light probes my eyes and I hear a chilling train whistle blow when at last the blackness lifts away.
It's a world of monochrome. A heavy fog colors everything in shades of white and gray. I inhale and taste the dampness on my tongue. Standing on the edge of a colorless platform, I stare down at the dark tracks laid below, mist swirling over the gleaming steel. A white hand is raised up to my cheek and after some time I realize that it's mine. I let it drop and look up.
I'm not alone. There are others with me, standing around on the platform, waiting. Young or old, it doesn't seem to matter — they were all here. Some stand idle as I do, others sit and whisper softly while still others wander about aimlessly. The expressions on their faces vary from very calm to bewildered or dazed. One old man, stooped over a firm cane, is weeping. In a blurred canvas of white and gray they are the only bits of color. A teenage boy huddles near the tracks, hugging himself with his head between his knees. He's shirtless so his ribs are visible even from where I stand. Near me a man and woman stand by one another, dressed brightly as if about to leave for a party. Their hands are clasped together and I have to wonder how they remember being together in life, if that were the case. A dark-skinned woman clad in robes cradles a baby; I hear her humming a lullaby as she rocks the child. I look down at myself and see my body clad in a black coat, pale scarf wrapped around my neck. A fairly ordinary outfit, like any person waiting for the train.
Just then I hear a bellowing whistle, the sound sending cold tremors down my spine. I shiver and step back from the tracks as a great silver train materializes out from the thick fog. The polished gray metal glints and steam rolls around its flashing wheels, raising a shrill cry as the train slows. There is a stirring around me when the train comes to a complete stop and a door opens for a figure in uniform to step out. The figure's frame is ringed with soft but piercing light; I can only tell that the figure is tall and dressed in a conductor's uniform. It's impossible to clearly pick out any facial features. However, I see faint lips part in my peripheral vision and a sublime voice calls out over the expanse:
"Eleventh hour, now boarding!"
As I ponder the meaning of this, several people move towards the surreal vehicle from which a few more of the glowing conductors had appeared, standing ready beside the passenger cars' open doors. The shirtless boy wipes at his eyes before staggering to his feet. The couple looks at one another meaningfully while the woman, still humming quietly, steps toward the train. I watch as these people all approach the seraphic conductors to show them something I can't see, then board the cars. A head pops up in one of the windows and I start when I see a little girl staring directly at me. She couldn't be any older than four or five. Wide eyes blink, and then a tiny hand appears to wave timidly. Just for a moment, I hesitate before lifting up my own hand to return her wave. Her bright smile feels as if it will blind me, but I can't look away even as her head disappears beneath the windowsill again, her having taken a seat. Only then do I realize that no one was with her. No one else seemed to have noticed her.
"Are you getting on?"
I jump and turn to see one of the seraphic conductors facing me. Quickly, I look away; the glowing light isn't painful, but there is a power in it that makes me avert my eyes. I had caught the outline of a face, perhaps male. The voice that had spoken was ageless, ethereal.
"Sir?"
The voice I speak with sounds strange to my ears, unexpected and ringing in the quiet. I have the feeling that everyone could hear us speaking, but when I look around nobody is paying much attention.
"Check your ticket. It's probably time for you to board."
One other thing — the voice was gentle. I'm about to say that I have no ticket when I feel a sharp edge graze my hand. Startled, I look down and see my right hand tucked in my coat pocket, and realize that it had been that way since my arrival. I pull it out and along with it comes a slip of heavy paper. It's a pale shade of cream with a name, two dates, and numbers pressed on one side in black print. My stomach drops and I stare at it, simply petrified at what I saw.
Is this my name?
My hand trembles as I pass it to the conductor.
"Is this it, sir . . . ?"
My alien voice has dropped to a hoarse whisper. The conductor takes it and studies the slip of paper before nodding. I watch a metal tool in that glowing hand clip the ticket briskly, then it's handed back to me. And before I know it I'm walking onto the train, shaking a little as I step off the platform.
The train interior is dark and cool; there is a certain peace in the atmosphere. Everyone has taken a seat, although a few are still standing. I find that I'm trembling as I stumble to an empty seat. My breath comes fast and I set myself down, lifting up my ticket this time to study it much more closely.
The dates beneath the name I soon decipher to be that of birth and death. The numbers below them must be the times. I gaze at it in silence before lifting a finger to trace the letters. So this was my last link to that world, what remained of my life. All those forgotten memories and experiences compressed to a train ticket, hidden in the blank spaces. For another minute I just hold it, feeling the coarse paper edge against my palm. I didn't feel afraid. I was only anxious, prepared to face whatever laid ahead but just nervously. But really, who wouldn't be? I give the train ticket another squeeze before tucking it back into my pocket.
"Can I sit with you?"
A tiny voice captures my attention and I look up to see the little girl I'd waved to. She looks even smaller up close, but her large eyes are cheery and hopeful, blinking at me. She wears a soft yellow gown that looks as if it's made of pressed buttercups, and I see her ticket sticking up out of a large pocket in the front. Her little hands are clasped behind her back and the white shoes on her feet shine, like they've just been polished. I can't help but wonder how such a young girl had died, left to board this ethereal train alone? I also wonder if it matters anymore, how any of the passengers had left that world — including me. I could not help feeling that something was missing, but now I notice I also feel liberated. Pure. Free.
I smile at her.
"Sure."
She beams and is crawling up beside me when the doors close with a hiss; outside I hear a voice call out, the words echoing in the empty air:
"ALL ABOARD!"
I gaze out the window at the dense white mist and exhale. Beneath us the train tugs forward, the engine chugging slowly as the silver wheels of the train begin to turn. I hear the train whistle blow, a call that reverberated deep into the core of my very being, a sound of finality, and my eyes close. They crack open a little when I feel two little hands take mine, but soon enough they fall closed again. Where was this train headed? What will happen from here on? I had no answers to these questions, nor any way to answer them until this train stopped. It was gaining speed now; I could sense it taking us away from that platform, deep into the surreal white mist. I feel no fear, but upon boarding I'd been suddenly overcome by a strange fatigue. I feel tired. For now, however, I believe I can stay awake, just for a little more.
Once more the train whistle blows, and I open my eyes.
So, this is what death feels like.
Something slips through and I study it in dulled curiosity. It's fear: just a tiny pinpoint, but I recognize the emotion capable of crippling living beings into utter immobility. Right now, however, it feels so small and insignificant as I struggle to put one thought to another. Then it connects; in the darkness of death I feel a stir of panic. Is this what it means to die? To be alone in a darkness so pure and condemning? To exist in silence so thick that there couldn't be any hope of hearing anything ever again? But that wasn't the worst part: the blankness was most terrifying of all. I couldn't remember anything. I was only aware I was dead, so aware. Beyond that there was nothing. My name, my identity, my life. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!
I want to scream. All I can do, however, is drift quietly.
Eventually I catch something. My entire existence freezes over and I strain to make sure it wasn't a delusion; maybe death was driving me insane? How ironic that would be. But no, I hear it again, faint like quiet music in a bellowing city. What I'm hearing is a beat: a rhythm so steady that I feel as if centuries pass in between. It could certainly be possible because this place seems timeless. I can't tell whether seconds or years are going by.
The beat quickens, albeit very slowly, and the realization that it's the sound of a heartbeat — of my heartbeat — begins to bring me to the surface. I blink eyes I can't remember possessing and lift an unfamiliar hand up to an unfamiliar face. Fingers brush numbly over cold skin as the darkness steadily lightens. It's turning into a pale ashen; I blink again. Pale light probes my eyes and I hear a chilling train whistle blow when at last the blackness lifts away.
It's a world of monochrome. A heavy fog colors everything in shades of white and gray. I inhale and taste the dampness on my tongue. Standing on the edge of a colorless platform, I stare down at the dark tracks laid below, mist swirling over the gleaming steel. A white hand is raised up to my cheek and after some time I realize that it's mine. I let it drop and look up.
I'm not alone. There are others with me, standing around on the platform, waiting. Young or old, it doesn't seem to matter — they were all here. Some stand idle as I do, others sit and whisper softly while still others wander about aimlessly. The expressions on their faces vary from very calm to bewildered or dazed. One old man, stooped over a firm cane, is weeping. In a blurred canvas of white and gray they are the only bits of color. A teenage boy huddles near the tracks, hugging himself with his head between his knees. He's shirtless so his ribs are visible even from where I stand. Near me a man and woman stand by one another, dressed brightly as if about to leave for a party. Their hands are clasped together and I have to wonder how they remember being together in life, if that were the case. A dark-skinned woman clad in robes cradles a baby; I hear her humming a lullaby as she rocks the child. I look down at myself and see my body clad in a black coat, pale scarf wrapped around my neck. A fairly ordinary outfit, like any person waiting for the train.
Just then I hear a bellowing whistle, the sound sending cold tremors down my spine. I shiver and step back from the tracks as a great silver train materializes out from the thick fog. The polished gray metal glints and steam rolls around its flashing wheels, raising a shrill cry as the train slows. There is a stirring around me when the train comes to a complete stop and a door opens for a figure in uniform to step out. The figure's frame is ringed with soft but piercing light; I can only tell that the figure is tall and dressed in a conductor's uniform. It's impossible to clearly pick out any facial features. However, I see faint lips part in my peripheral vision and a sublime voice calls out over the expanse:
"Eleventh hour, now boarding!"
As I ponder the meaning of this, several people move towards the surreal vehicle from which a few more of the glowing conductors had appeared, standing ready beside the passenger cars' open doors. The shirtless boy wipes at his eyes before staggering to his feet. The couple looks at one another meaningfully while the woman, still humming quietly, steps toward the train. I watch as these people all approach the seraphic conductors to show them something I can't see, then board the cars. A head pops up in one of the windows and I start when I see a little girl staring directly at me. She couldn't be any older than four or five. Wide eyes blink, and then a tiny hand appears to wave timidly. Just for a moment, I hesitate before lifting up my own hand to return her wave. Her bright smile feels as if it will blind me, but I can't look away even as her head disappears beneath the windowsill again, her having taken a seat. Only then do I realize that no one was with her. No one else seemed to have noticed her.
"Are you getting on?"
I jump and turn to see one of the seraphic conductors facing me. Quickly, I look away; the glowing light isn't painful, but there is a power in it that makes me avert my eyes. I had caught the outline of a face, perhaps male. The voice that had spoken was ageless, ethereal.
"Sir?"
The voice I speak with sounds strange to my ears, unexpected and ringing in the quiet. I have the feeling that everyone could hear us speaking, but when I look around nobody is paying much attention.
"Check your ticket. It's probably time for you to board."
One other thing — the voice was gentle. I'm about to say that I have no ticket when I feel a sharp edge graze my hand. Startled, I look down and see my right hand tucked in my coat pocket, and realize that it had been that way since my arrival. I pull it out and along with it comes a slip of heavy paper. It's a pale shade of cream with a name, two dates, and numbers pressed on one side in black print. My stomach drops and I stare at it, simply petrified at what I saw.
Is this my name?
My hand trembles as I pass it to the conductor.
"Is this it, sir . . . ?"
My alien voice has dropped to a hoarse whisper. The conductor takes it and studies the slip of paper before nodding. I watch a metal tool in that glowing hand clip the ticket briskly, then it's handed back to me. And before I know it I'm walking onto the train, shaking a little as I step off the platform.
The train interior is dark and cool; there is a certain peace in the atmosphere. Everyone has taken a seat, although a few are still standing. I find that I'm trembling as I stumble to an empty seat. My breath comes fast and I set myself down, lifting up my ticket this time to study it much more closely.
The dates beneath the name I soon decipher to be that of birth and death. The numbers below them must be the times. I gaze at it in silence before lifting a finger to trace the letters. So this was my last link to that world, what remained of my life. All those forgotten memories and experiences compressed to a train ticket, hidden in the blank spaces. For another minute I just hold it, feeling the coarse paper edge against my palm. I didn't feel afraid. I was only anxious, prepared to face whatever laid ahead but just nervously. But really, who wouldn't be? I give the train ticket another squeeze before tucking it back into my pocket.
"Can I sit with you?"
A tiny voice captures my attention and I look up to see the little girl I'd waved to. She looks even smaller up close, but her large eyes are cheery and hopeful, blinking at me. She wears a soft yellow gown that looks as if it's made of pressed buttercups, and I see her ticket sticking up out of a large pocket in the front. Her little hands are clasped behind her back and the white shoes on her feet shine, like they've just been polished. I can't help but wonder how such a young girl had died, left to board this ethereal train alone? I also wonder if it matters anymore, how any of the passengers had left that world — including me. I could not help feeling that something was missing, but now I notice I also feel liberated. Pure. Free.
I smile at her.
"Sure."
She beams and is crawling up beside me when the doors close with a hiss; outside I hear a voice call out, the words echoing in the empty air:
"ALL ABOARD!"
I gaze out the window at the dense white mist and exhale. Beneath us the train tugs forward, the engine chugging slowly as the silver wheels of the train begin to turn. I hear the train whistle blow, a call that reverberated deep into the core of my very being, a sound of finality, and my eyes close. They crack open a little when I feel two little hands take mine, but soon enough they fall closed again. Where was this train headed? What will happen from here on? I had no answers to these questions, nor any way to answer them until this train stopped. It was gaining speed now; I could sense it taking us away from that platform, deep into the surreal white mist. I feel no fear, but upon boarding I'd been suddenly overcome by a strange fatigue. I feel tired. For now, however, I believe I can stay awake, just for a little more.
Once more the train whistle blows, and I open my eyes.
Ilovemichi94
Maureen H. 
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