I can see the floodwaters I rushed in on, a dizzying expanse of objects forming what might be water. The dimensions of this place are amazing: things are more sharply in existence than in�..what? the real world? The Real World? No, this transcends words. Somehow, I am in the middle of the water and on dry land at once, as though my body is a balance and for now I am mostly on land. I can still feel the flow on my arms, though, if I concentrate. I can still feel Nina�s hand on my arm while passing me the butter from dinner in her close-quartered kitchen, and Jon�s mouth on mine during that hectic and hilarious night.
The scream no longer hangs in my ears, though I would like very much to hear it again and see how it sounds with my body like this, the way you might test out a new guitar amp. Somehow I have the feeling that it wouldn�t be too bad. I might even like it.
I lumber along the ground, feeling just as massive and unpleasant as anything else I have encountered thus far. Several times I feel like checking my watch, but I don�t even know if time exists in this place�maybe things stop and start over and over.
I come across a patch of bare, wettish and dark red ground, and scuff across it, thinking about my death.
I had been trying to get back to sleep when it happened: I don�t recall much of the actual killing. But afterward, I sort of saw the guy. He was tall, skinny, long dark hair like mine. I thought he looked crazy, and I felt bad because I�m crazy and I sort of know how he feels. I don�t kill people, though.
Maybe he was hungry. Maybe he thought I was somebody else, which is possible. I�m glad Jon isn�t dead, but I mean�.shit! This is the worst afterlife ever! I�m barely keeping myself conscious, and things are terrifying and unnatural. This is not what anyone expected, or expects, I bet.
I close my eyes, and then find to my surprise that there is something in them, filling out the insides of my eyelids. A different place, less stagnant and overall much more afterlifey. I step through, gladly, and don�t ask how I am able to.
The first thing I see upon entering this strange place is�unusual. It�s a mirror, floating above my head like a strange ceiling, but it�s sheer. I can, with some effort, pull through it like taffy, and the sky (if such a word applies---if any word applies!) is visible and a darkish purple/green. And yet, by changing the focus of my eyes, I can make it clear and practically invisible, or hard and opaque, reflective. I do so.
And begin, unnaturally, to scream.
My face is the same running-wax spectacle of the figure I first beheld, my legs just as skeletal and corroded. And yet, in this reflection, my eyes are closed. I scream again, wincing as the noise pours through me. I do not know how I became like this, but I need to change. I need to return to however I was, this is wrong, this is twisted and firmly within the realm of disbelief. I want cool white gates and booming voices and clean robes and everything that I had ever rejected from the Church.
I sit, on the ground, which is soft and grayish, rather like concrete left in the sun except not warm, or sticky. It�s pleasant. I try to sleep, but my legs do not go where they ought to and my face touches the ground differently.
At last, from exhaustion, I sleep. It is not sweet.