Remnants
He wasn't sure what to make of it all, except that one second the frozen water lapped at his skin cruelly while he struggled to stay afloat and the next, he felt nothing at all. His friends were crowded around something and the lightest sensation -- or feeling? -- of what he likened to curiosity brought him over to them. Their faces were stricken with an emotion that he has come to associated with sadness, only worsened by a touch of tragedy as highlighted by their downcast gaze. Somehow he could not understand, or could not fathom, or could not come to fathom, why all this was happening and why such detachment nipped at him.
He felt nothing and could not bring himself to feel anything even after seeing the corpse that laid desolately dead on the ground, subjected to gross attempts to resuscitate him. There was no response and with each passing second, the emotions he has earlier identified worsened. He wanted to call out to them, but somehow knowing that they could not hear him rendered such desires vain. So he simply sat down on the sand and watchsed the feeble attempts to defy death.
Death. He was only in awe at how he could finally acknowledge the subject without any bangs, booms, or shebangs. Were there neither fiery lakes nor pearly gates to greet him upon his departure from the world where he has resided for a short nineteen years?
His attention snapped back to his friends when he saw from the corner of his eyes that they parted for someone. She glanced down at his friend and him before she knelt down beside his body and touched his neck. The emptiness in him was growing, making him feel lighter and lighter. When was this all going to be over? Wasn't it supposed to be fast? Was death not the typical "wham-bam, thank you ma'am" business that many suicide victims felt eager to assert to others or the grossly blandness that the media has depicted it? Instead, he found himself lingering in the midst of reality and not reality, a reality that he non-existed with everyone else. Perhaps this was his version of hell, to exist in a crowded world of living people while you were the only person dead. If this was what he had to look forward to, perhaps this being dead business wasn't so glorious after all.
"Come here."
He looked up, following the voice to find her staring at him with her big brown eyes. Everyone's attention seemed to be focused on her as well, their faces mixing hints of ridicule and indignation at her openly disrespect for the dead -- or so he would have thought had he seen such display years ago. Now, it didn't seem so strange. A surge of relief grew inside of him as he took in the image of her outstretched hand.
"You can see me."
She nodded. Someone shouted something resembling a curse at her blatant opposition to what religious conventions dictated -- one should not talk to spirits because they were most likely not good if they were not in heaven by now -- but she ignored them. He ignored them. If there were anything more rattling than dying and being where he was, he would not find it surprising.
"You want to say goodbye to everyone, don't you?"
Did he? He has been standing on the shores of the lake for a while, gazing out at the rippling spot of nothingness in the lake without any clue as to what he has been watching. He knew no sense of emotions personally, only recognizing them from his memories. His memories told him that one felt relief from being dead, enlightened and rested because one's daily crosses are relieved and one is welcomed to the Father's bosom. Or one simply drank a bowl of soup to forget the past life and start a new life. Or whatever it was according to the preferred religion.
Instead, this sense of lightness calm from the emptiness that was growing more and more by the second. Emotions weighed down a person's life, in spite of what benefits came from it. Memories... he blinked at the idea. Was he forgetting his past? Was it possible to forget one's past if there was no one around to remember it? Because then it simply didn't exist. His attention returned to her as she cleared her throat, now standing in front of him.
"If you want to say goodbye, now would be the time."
So he took her hand. Instantly it flooded back to him. The overwhelming sensation weighing down on him, the tragic realization of what has happened to him and the consequences thereafter that he failed to realize while watching everyone's bleak and desolate expressions. When he realized that he has been squeezing her hand, he let up on the pressure, remembering that it was her who anchored him in his world, however temporarily. His friends' eyes were all on him, widened with shock and confusion when they glanced at the corpse on the ground.
"Go on. Say your goodbyes. You've got a lot to do after this."
He felt nothing and could not bring himself to feel anything even after seeing the corpse that laid desolately dead on the ground, subjected to gross attempts to resuscitate him. There was no response and with each passing second, the emotions he has earlier identified worsened. He wanted to call out to them, but somehow knowing that they could not hear him rendered such desires vain. So he simply sat down on the sand and watchsed the feeble attempts to defy death.
Death. He was only in awe at how he could finally acknowledge the subject without any bangs, booms, or shebangs. Were there neither fiery lakes nor pearly gates to greet him upon his departure from the world where he has resided for a short nineteen years?
His attention snapped back to his friends when he saw from the corner of his eyes that they parted for someone. She glanced down at his friend and him before she knelt down beside his body and touched his neck. The emptiness in him was growing, making him feel lighter and lighter. When was this all going to be over? Wasn't it supposed to be fast? Was death not the typical "wham-bam, thank you ma'am" business that many suicide victims felt eager to assert to others or the grossly blandness that the media has depicted it? Instead, he found himself lingering in the midst of reality and not reality, a reality that he non-existed with everyone else. Perhaps this was his version of hell, to exist in a crowded world of living people while you were the only person dead. If this was what he had to look forward to, perhaps this being dead business wasn't so glorious after all.
"Come here."
He looked up, following the voice to find her staring at him with her big brown eyes. Everyone's attention seemed to be focused on her as well, their faces mixing hints of ridicule and indignation at her openly disrespect for the dead -- or so he would have thought had he seen such display years ago. Now, it didn't seem so strange. A surge of relief grew inside of him as he took in the image of her outstretched hand.
"You can see me."
She nodded. Someone shouted something resembling a curse at her blatant opposition to what religious conventions dictated -- one should not talk to spirits because they were most likely not good if they were not in heaven by now -- but she ignored them. He ignored them. If there were anything more rattling than dying and being where he was, he would not find it surprising.
"You want to say goodbye to everyone, don't you?"
Did he? He has been standing on the shores of the lake for a while, gazing out at the rippling spot of nothingness in the lake without any clue as to what he has been watching. He knew no sense of emotions personally, only recognizing them from his memories. His memories told him that one felt relief from being dead, enlightened and rested because one's daily crosses are relieved and one is welcomed to the Father's bosom. Or one simply drank a bowl of soup to forget the past life and start a new life. Or whatever it was according to the preferred religion.
Instead, this sense of lightness calm from the emptiness that was growing more and more by the second. Emotions weighed down a person's life, in spite of what benefits came from it. Memories... he blinked at the idea. Was he forgetting his past? Was it possible to forget one's past if there was no one around to remember it? Because then it simply didn't exist. His attention returned to her as she cleared her throat, now standing in front of him.
"If you want to say goodbye, now would be the time."
So he took her hand. Instantly it flooded back to him. The overwhelming sensation weighing down on him, the tragic realization of what has happened to him and the consequences thereafter that he failed to realize while watching everyone's bleak and desolate expressions. When he realized that he has been squeezing her hand, he let up on the pressure, remembering that it was her who anchored him in his world, however temporarily. His friends' eyes were all on him, widened with shock and confusion when they glanced at the corpse on the ground.
"Go on. Say your goodbyes. You've got a lot to do after this."