Albeit an excursion
All that is profound sought asylum in his mind as he wander off the deep end. He knows not where he is nor how he is here. Naught but his soul remains, his consciousness, ego, identity all dissipated. But his body as well as mind is far from empty.
Just as shadow is the absence of light, death is the absence of life. But this supposed dichotomy dictates the intrinsic similarities between them as well. Sacred is both life and death. Process is both.
Does there exist anything outside here? He thinks back to rays of street lights converging into one blinding halo. The howls of passing vehicles like a wind torrent. A dreadful sense of all consuming coldness engulfing him.
In a moment, the andrenaline seems to return to him. He takes a hard gasp of air though he no longer needed to breathe.
A sense of ethereal calmness hold him down. He feels as if he’s floating upside down and blood is rushing to his head though there shouldn’t be any in him now.
This void isn’t a true void. For he is here, real as can be. Finding his way through it.
Now he will pass through just like anyone would. All a procedure. One that he isn’t ready to go through. Not yet. He still needs to find out why he’s here or he won’t do at all. He knows that at least.
The heat of the world returns to his senses though he remains invisible to it. The bustles of the street seems to him bizarre, now that he’s no longer part of it. He will soon become part of the opposite. A boy walks hurriedly across the streets, humming some tune he can’t hear. He catches himself longing for music as well, his music. He suddenly finds himself wildly jealous of the living. The boy seems to be just the age of a teen, wearing a neon yellow jacket with all kinds of pin and an out of place fierce look on such a young face. A disturbingly familiar look. Then the boy stares straight at him.
If he was alive, he’s sure that would be the scare of his life. He feels as if his heart has just popped out off his ribcage. Not that he has a heart or a chest anymore. But he did jump visibly. And quite embarrassingly too. A slight curve up appears on the corner of his mouth, but it was brief, not a moment passed until his fierce look returns. The boy looks like a prey animal trying to appear threatening to the world, to defend itself, he’s steeling himself to brace for what’s to come. He thinks he understands that all too well. He feels obliged to follow him now. Not everyday a teenager can face the dead so nonchalantly. The boy approach him, his eyes seemingly piercing through the dead being:
“Are you here to figure out why you died?”
In face of the spirit's astonishment, the boy continued:
“The dead go back to the living as spirits for many reasons. Unfulfilled wishes, to visit their living relatives,…But you’re just wandering about like this so you aren’t here for any of that are you? Does not knowing bothers you so much you can’t yet pass?”
He wonders if him being a spirit made him that much more transparent in thought and action. He has come to peace with every other aspect of his death. But he feels it’s his right to know why.
In truth, the boy empathizes with the spirit deeply. He too has things he has yet to figure out, things he needs to know in order for him to be able to move on. The boy believes himself to be just a normal boy, but in truth he knows something is wrong with him.
He only started to see ‘unearthly things’ ever since the incident. A car accident it was.
No that isn’t right. That makes it seem like he was driving. He got hit.
He was running out of his house in the dead of the night. It was one of those nights where he wanted nothing more than to run away. The air in the house threatened to suffocate him, his heart on the verge of turning purple from frostbite. The roof weigh on him, he could feel his own limbs shake. The only thing keeping him sane was music, he finds solace in it where everything felt against him. It transcends all mortal boundaries, and yet it’s what the outside world is to him. How can existence be mere pain when there’s also Billy Joel, Nirvana, Chopin? For every moment of anguish he suffered, they could be so easily washed away with music. He lived through music when he wasn't able to there. But time flows in a very strange way there where even the air was hostile to him. He was afraid he would gradually lose who he is the longer he stay and endure. He was afraid of only aging not living.
The sky was falling down, dragging with it grey thunderous shards. Yellow stripes strewn wildly across the empty space. He knew if he was going he has to go that night, like it was fate. The storm was only and extension of his inner heart. He picked up a few of his belongings on the desk, his identification papers, a pocket knife, music player and a lighter. He debated grabbing a family photo, a physical proof of a past beyond this house but ultimately decided not to. He had nothing to do with the past anymore. With a few pair of clothing and all of his money in his backpack he was ready to make a run of it. His objective was simply to escape. Perhaps the house has finally driven him mad.
The moment he left the threshold of the house, his entire body felt lighter. His legs carried him like bronze wings, they could have took him to the sun if he so wished. The cold of the night and the rain did nothing more than fuel the burning fire of his heart. His lungs sucked in the stormy air greedily. His body tinged with electricity.
But his escape wasn’t over yet. He was scared he would be found out and dragged back to that dreadful place again. He would do anything for that not to happen. So he took turn after turn, caring to let himself end up in the most unfamiliar routes and neighborhood. There would be close to no traffic at this hour, he thought and got too carried away. When he get away, he'll get a job in a retail store and work out his way from there. He'll save up and pursue a music career. Never in his life had the future seem so feasible in his mind, now that he was free. He didn't have time to look behind when his mind was marching relentlessly onward. A car lost its grip on the slippery road and crashed into him in the thick darkness of the night.
He knew people would have their entire life flash before their eyes in their last moments. "Would it be like a slow motion movie replaying their lives' highlights? Or would it be random events imprinted in your memory playing back in random order?" , he used to wonder. A small scene of his birth showed up, then brief moments of happiness in his childhood, and then black. Nothing more. No first time riding a bike. No parents patting him on the back saying they're proud of him. No getting into a university. No first love. The more he tried to remember something comforting, the more he realized just how much his life was empty, void of meaning. The rain turned heavier, cold needles falling from the sky numbing his skin as thunder boom around him like a distant scream. He had his entire life ahead of him. How can he die like this before he got the chance to do anything at all. How can everything be taken so cruelly from him. Just like before, he was still a child, helpless amidst the dictates of life. But he knows it can be beautiful, and he yearns for it, just as helplessly. Tears welled up in his eyes as he lied there, the streetlights becoming blurry prisms, obstructing his sight, his face contorting in unspeakable agony.
“Anything, I will give up anything! I want to listen to music, I want to create, I must live! This must not be the end!”
Lightning struck. A revolting burnt smell filled the air. In a tower somewhere, a clock's pendulum stopped. The clicking of a new gear shifting echoes throughout the space. Could it have been wrong?
When he opened his eyes, he found himself still in the middle of the street, albeit in a much heavier foot traffic. It was already late morning, the merciless heat heaved down on him. He could have sworn just moments ago his body was nothing more than a cold lifeless slump. He shivered harshly at the thought. The important thing was him still alive. But something critical was missing.
The spirit asks the boy if he can borrow his music player. Is he mistaken? The music seems to push the being on the verge of crying.
"Nice taste" the boy admits, still watching him intently.
The spirit gave the boy a questioning look. Is he that clueless? And he slowly fades away. He doesn't give the music player back immediately of course. He wants to listen until the song's end.
"Live for me too will you?"
If life is challenge then death is acceptance. If the world works against you alive, it would at least care to cater to you in death, as you have already lived. This is a farewell gift from the world to him, like an old friend’s wistful sigh.
He is glad. In the end, he has already accepted, now both him and the boy can move on. Though they have to part, he would no longer hold the boy back anymore. Now, it's the boy's turn get emotional. But that's only fair considering what happened. Nothing is holding him back anymore, not even himself. And all is right in his brand new world.
The dangers of solitude
The neighborhood is a most normal one indeed. Nothing ever happens here. It's truly unimaginable that its mediocrity can ever sow discord, nonetheless bear witness to a crime scene. And yet, just yesterday one just unveiled right in front of our eyes. The unimaginable happened.
This afternoon has been exceptionally noisy. I drove home from work to the screeches of blaring sirens and obnoxious lights coming from next door. It didn't surprise me in the least when I saw my neighbor thrashing in handcuffs, getting hauled away into the police's car. The crowd surrounding him knows not what I know. They only know to speculate and spread rumors. They have yet to know of his nature.
My neighbor stuck out amidst the mediocre neighborhood like a needle among cotton. All societal roles people conformed to, he was against it. A man of his age should already have a family, with his oldest child attending high school. And yet, he's alone as can be. He only moved here for half a year for seemingly no reason at all. No one managed to get any information on him, it was as if he went missing during his twenties and reappeared here. No relatives or friends, he's the enigma in this quiet corner of the world, where nothing ever happens. But what was most incriminating was the irregular intervals in which he arrived home and left. Anyone who paid half their mind would be suspicious. This irregularity which our particular neighbor displayed suggested a more than eccentric lifestyle at best. What business can keep him outside until dawn, what job can demand him to up and leave for weeks at a time? What more, he would hardly make any attempt to fit in with the community, only hardly ever return a greeting wave or smile from me and another woman who lived right next to him. To me, he resembled more of a hermit crab than a criminal. Yet he fits the bill for a stereotypical criminal like a glove. All considered, he is more like a caricature than a person. That should go to show just how little we know about him. But whatever he was up to, he was the perfect crime scape goat, the perfect diversion. Next to him, even the most outright conspicuous criminals would seem like masters of stealth, any anomalies would be normal in comparison to this enigmatic neighbor. It was only a matter of time until someone realizes his nature, the keystone of a perfect crime.
"I swear on my life I'm innocent!" My neighbor howled at the police. I never knew his face can be so expressive. Then he threw a glance at me, begging me to intervene, to do something in face of this injustice. He knows that I know of his innocence. No one else would vouch for him. I shifted to answer.
"I'm so sorry for your inconvenience, you can't imagine what your neighbor here has done. So horrendous, it would put a grown man in tears." The police excused himself and sneered at the suspect with disgust. "You're coming into custody you cold-blooded murderer, we have a lot to catch up to." And with that they drove away, the noise only ceasing a little for the crowd roared up in heated arguments and theories. A wave of relief mixed with disappointment washed over me. No one really knew him.
After this ruckus, the incident's notoriety will grip this place in terror, the town where nothing ever happened will be remembered for this tragedy alone, would anyone even question if a habitant choose to move out some time later due to concern for their own safety, preferably as far as they can? The police was right though, they have a lot of catching up to do. Just not with him.