A Walk Among Death

Matthew brushed his fingers along the soft petals. Those black flowers with their deep purple stalks swayed gently in the breeze—a breeze he couldn’t particularly feel. No warmth. No cold. The gentle wind swirled around him, enveloping him in its comforting embrace. An embrace of curiosity. One questioning why he was there. The dark grey, purple and red clouds churned high above, dancing in a chaotic clash with crackling thunder. But just as the indifferent breeze around him, those harsh clouds brought no discomfort, no fear.

A prick from a thorn. Matthew looked down to find a small hole in his finger, but no blood accompanying it—nor pain. Within seconds, the hole closed. What is this place? he thought, his eyes focusing on the healed skin. Where am I? How did I get here? The thorny flowers brushed against his leg. Their velvety petals and prickly stems caressed his naked flesh. Another gentle poke. It was as if they were coaxing him forward rather than jabbing him with malicious intent. Very well.

He continued through the dark field, his bare feet finding the ground soft and comforting. The moist soil melded to them like heavily worn sandals. Each step through the black flowers instilled some semblance of peace within him. Despite that, it all seemed to drive him forward. To where? He could not say.

After what seemed like hours, Matthew finally made it to the edge of the flowery field. He found himself staring down a dirt path, wriggling its way through pastures of waist-high grass. Grass so crimson it seemed grown from pools of blood. Another crack of thunder boomed across the maelstrom above. It was telling him to continue on his journey. He obliged.

Matthew didn’t know how many miles he traveled when he first heard the crow’s cry. It hovered above, circling his position. The first sign of life I've seen since I woke here. A sign of hope or a curse? As if replying, the crow let out another squawk. Then it soared along the path with him, beckoning him forward.

Eventually, he heard the welcoming sound of running water. A stream or small river passing over rocks. The path curved around a shallow embankment, leading down past the grasses’ edge and onto the river’s shore.

As he stood atop the embankment, Matthew was witness to a beautiful, pale woman bending down, knee-deep in the gentle river. Her long black skirt and leather jerkin accentuated the even blacker hair cascading down her face as the tips dipped into the dark waters. She was washing something underneath the surface. A tall man stood nearby, watching her with a look of sad resignation.

The crow swooped down to her, landing expertly on her shoulder as she stood. She stepped over to the man and presented him with the object she was washing: a set of armor, scarred and worn, but now clean of blood. The man reluctantly took it, bowing his head. He then looked to Matthew and, clutching the armor to his chest, slowly disintegrated into a cloud of black ash that dissipated into the gentle breeze. My god, what is happening? What ill-fated realm have I stumbled upon?

“Come to me, traveler,” the black-haired woman called to him, holding out a hand. It was a demand, not a request. And everything in Matthew’s being told him to adhere.

The water was neither cold nor warm, but simply there. Fingers touched, and hand was taken in hand. Her skin was simultaneously soft yet stoic. The crow cried out. A welcoming greeting or expletive curse?

“Hmmm,” the woman caressed his hands, looking them over. Then her eyes delved deep into his. He could feel her stare piercing into him, dissecting his soul, disassembling his very essence before putting it back together again. A sharp gasp involuntarily escaped him as her will flooded his very being. Then all went calm. “I see. No, this will not do. You do not belong here, young one.”

“Where is here?” Matthew asked, his voice holding a tinge of bewilderment.

“The passing. The fluttering. The journey to the end, the end of the journey.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Few do. That soldier, for one. They always understand. But you? No, I suspect you will be most perplexed on this journey. But it is not my place to enlighten you. For I do not have a say in your fate. You must seek another.” She pointed downstream. “Perhaps she will be able to offer further guidance. For my duties are too numerous to withhold for one fleeting soul. But here, take one of my crows. They will assist you.”

Before he could react, a manifested crow swooped down and perched on Matthew’s shoulder. Its talons were surprisingly gentle, despite digging into his flesh.

“I thank you,” he bowed, bringing out a satisficed grin from the beautiful woman. As he raised his head, her pale face began to sharpen, pulling forward at the nose and mouth. Those large, bright eyes shrunk and turned black as onyx. Her jet-black hair coiled in, forming into feathers. Leaping from the water, her feet became leathery and taloned. Where once toned, pale arms resided, now black feathers beat about, swirling the misty air around them. Then with a triumphant caw, she was off, soaring to the dark clouds above.

Matthew knew he should have been shocked, stunned even. He should have been on his knees, calling out to the heavens as tears streamed down his face in reverence. But he simply watched her vanish. This place. It holds the strangest of powers. The power of acquiescence. A sigh escaped him, but then he headed down the riverbank.

Occasionally, Matthew would come across others in the same predicament as he. Lost souls, wondering this strange land without any semblance of understanding. None knew how they arrived. None knew where to go. It pained him that he was unable to provide any explanations for them, barely stumbling through this realm himself. So, they walked on, each seeking their own answers.

After what seemed like dozens of miles, Matthew finally arrived to a massive bridge that crossed the dark river. He climbed up the embankment and stepped onto the large wooden planks. There was no creaking, no feeling of harsh, damp wood underneath his feet. Only a blanket of calm as he approached the small gathering of people in the middle of the bridge. They were surrounding an old woman who was stirring a caldron of soup. She placed some in a bowl and offered it to each soul.

It was accepted with thanks, each bowing their head before partaking of its steaming contents. Then eyes would go blank, suddenly looking about as if seeing their surroundings for the first time. The old woman then ushered them to the opposite side of the bridge, where they would vanish into a bluish mist, floating up into the ether.

Matthew approached. The old woman graced him with a smile and handed him a bowl of the fragrant soup. He took it with thanks. But as it moved to his lips, the crow cawed and thrashed about, sending the bowl and its contents to the soft wood of the bridge.

“Ah,” the old woman grinned, pouring another bowl and handing it to a different soul. “I know this one. A humble servant, loyal to its master.”

The crow cawed, almost smugly.

“My apologies. I did not mean to waste your soup,” Matthew looked down shamefully.

“Hold your head high, boy. A mistake would have been made. Your black guardian was in the right. I should have known. I should have seen. I suppose my old age has clouded my sight,” she chuckled.

“A mistake? You know why I am here then?”

“Oh, indeed I do. I know why all are here. But that doesn’t mean I have the authority to usher you forward. No, that is the task of another. The branded forest, yonder,” the old woman pointed to the tree line far past the river’s end. “There you will find one who can show you the way. But be careful boy; she is not one of compassion.”

“You have my thanks. I feel this journey will never end,” Matthew sighed deeply. Although a patient man, he felt he was being leashed around by ominous figures. But what other choice did he have?

“This is not a journey to be taken lightly or swiftly. Each step has a purpose, each voice a reason. But I feel you will find your own voice soon. You will see.”

Matthew nodded in appreciation before heading back the way he came.

The path to the forest took him through a shelter of giant jasmines, covering the trail in arches. They swooned and swayed with the breeze, almost hypnotizing Matthew with their dance—a collage of blue and white petals.

But then he saw only the ground as it rushed before him, pulling the jasmines away. His crow companion cawed and flew off, never to be seen again. Then he was suddenly greeted with the giant nose of a water buffalo. It chewed and chewed.

“I do say, what have we here?” a powerful, echoing voice boomed across the sky, fluttering the jasmine petals.

Matthew dared to look up. He was hanging by a lasso squeezed tightly around one ankle. On the other end was a giant of a man with dark green skin and fiery copper eyes. A dazzling crown rested atop his head, shining above those blazing eyes and impressive mustache. The golden mace in his other hand rested on his shoulder. A bored grunt bellowed out from the water buffalo he mounted.

“Hmmm,” the large man twisted Matthew around, sniffing, inspecting every nook and cranny. “Odd. I do not sense sin within you. In fact, I sense…nothing. A lost soul? In my domain? How come you to this place, mortal? Speak!”

“I, uh. I do not know, good sir,” Matthew stammered as he slowly rotated around, hanging upside down. “I simply awoke and found myself among black flowers. I trekked along, trying to find an answer, any answer to what this place is or how I arrived. But no answers came forth! Only questions. Now I’m told to go into the forest and seek a woman who may guide me.”

The large man pursed his lips in contemplation. Then, in one swift motion, he loosened the lasso, letting Matthew fall to the soft jasmines below. “Well, that is quite the story, young mortal.” The man hopped off his buffalo and stomped over to Matthew, his hands on his hips. “True, the forest holds the woman you seek. Vile, harpy of a thing. Half beauty, half corpse. I wouldn’t trust her to give proper guidance. Although, she is experienced in her ways…as we all are.”

Matthew stood, brushing himself off. “What am I to do? I am lost. A lost soul. A lost man.”

“Indeed.” The large man rubbed his chin. Those thick whiskers gyrated with his touch. “I suppose it falls to me then. My gardens have been rather empty as of late. Very well, I will assist thee.” He reached down, taking Matthew by the shoulders and effortlessly hoisting him onto the back of the water buffalo. He hopped up in front, taking the reins.

“Will your mount condone me upon his back?”

“Him? Bah! He probably doesn’t even feel your weight. Come, let us be off. There is one that I think will have the answers you seek.”

“I am ever grateful.” Another trail ahead.

The two passengers and lofty, muscular buffalo trampled their way through the jasmines. As they traveled together, his green-skinned host showed Matthew many biomes of that fascinating domain. They trudged through icy fields, fiery hellscapes and bountiful pastures. Forests of green, black and red; mountains made of glass, and cliffs shooting up past the clouds that trembled and bellowed were among the many breathtaking marvels that encapsulated their journey. At one point, they stopped at a river where the buffalo took drink. Only when they got close did Matthew see a cloaked figure ferrying sorrowful passengers along, coins jingling in hand.

With the river left behind, the buffalo worked its way through the rocky hillside. Red lotus petals drifted on the wind from unseen fields, covering the land in a blanket of deep crimson. The buffalo had no trouble finding his footing, however.

Journeying past the hills had them trekking up jagged mountains. Waterfalls of various colors covered its gigantic face, fueling the rivers below. Matthew’s eyes grew wide, for he had never seen a pink waterfall before, nor one as large as these. The pink, blue, purple and green mists evaporating from their base filled the air with an intoxicating aroma. He could feel that whatever resided on this mountain was one of great compassion.

Hours later, their path curved around a vine-strewn cliff, rich with grapes of all sorts. But Matthew realized he desired none. For he had no hunger nor thirst since he awoke there. All that mattered was his destination: the marble pavilion sitting atop the mountain, observing the miraculous valleys below.

“We have arrived, mortal.” His green-skinned companion gently helped him off the giant buffalo. The massive beast snorted a goodbye as Matthew patted him on his large, wet nose.

“I am ever grateful for your kindness, friends. May fortune find you,” Matthew laughed as the buffalo nuzzled him, nearly knocking him over.

“It was the just thing, young mortal. For you are without sin. Who am I to cast you away?” The large man smiled, his crown twinkling in the misty light. Then they turned, thundering down the mountain before disappearing in the thick mist.

“He was right in bringing you to me,” a youthful voice said from behind.

Matthew turned to see a younger man in black, silken robes beckoning him forward. A sheathed sword dangled loosely from his belt. However, his most astonishing feature was the large wings protruding from his back. Behind him, another winged man laid on a bed, deep in sleep. Matthew noticed the two were twins.

“Forgive my brother,” the one in front spoke. “He came to visit, and succumbed to the comfort of my klinē. As he often does.”

“No apologies necessary. He seems at peace; I would be most worried to wake him.”

“Not even the great flood could wake him. Be at rest. I know why you have come.”

“You do?” Matthew exhaled in relief. Perhaps the journey wasn’t for naught.

“You, like so many others, question this place and your existence in it. But unlike so many others, you do not belong. No doubt the reason my compeers ushered you to me. Wise as they are, albeit brash and often hotheaded.” A chuckle escaped him. He turned, waving Matthew over.

“I do not remember how I arrived here. I do not remember anything before,” Matthew sighed.

“Common. Expected.” They stopped at a marble bench and sat down. “Those who enter the realm of death that are not meant to, often forget their life. The two worlds clash, thus erasing themselves. An unfortunate side effect. One that has yet to be remedied.”

“Death? I—I am dead?”

“No, my dear boy. You are but on the precipice. As of now, your mortal form lies in the realm of humankind, surrounded by others. Are they loved ones, or enemies? I cannot say. For you must make a choice. A choice that I cannot sway.”

“What choice?”

“Do you wish to pass into death, joining the afterlife? Or do you return, risking the burden of your mortal coil? Do not choose lightly. This is not an option I give many.”

Matthew didn’t know what to think. Having no recollection of his past, what would he gain by returning? What if his life was a horror? What if those surrounding him were enemies plotting against him? What if they were the reason he was there in the first place? And what of this afterlife? He didn’t fear it, but what does it entail? Is there happiness? Is there pain?

“Not easy, is it?” the winged man grinned sympathetically.

“No.”

“Most choose life. A return to their mortal form. But they never think that the afterlife is in and of itself, a life. Simply the one after what is known by your kind.”

“But if I choose to return, then I am granted two lives.”

“Aw, now you understand. But a life is not always one of happiness, no?”

“No. No, I suppose not.”

“But…”

“But how can I ever know if I don’t return? How can I try and find happiness if I turn away from it all?”

“Precisely.”

“Then, I choose life.”

“Which?” One of the winged man’s eyebrows peaked.

“Apologies. I choose to return.”

“Very good. Fare thee well.”

With that, a simple flash of light and the smell of dust and sweat. A woman’s gasp. A man’s cough. Opening his eyes was one of the most painful things he’s experienced. Dry and aching. But open them he did. And before him, a group of people surrounded his bed, all looking to him, some with tears in their eyes.

Closest to him stood a man in a white doctor coat. He was fiddling with the contraption that was hooked up to Matthew’s mouth, pushing air into his lungs.

“Wait!” the young woman sitting next to him cried out, reaching over him and grasping the doctor’s arm. “He’s awake. He—” her sobbing cut her off.

Matthews’ eyes grew damp, filling with their own tears. I remember. I remember her. Lana. I remember them all.

The woman laughed, more tears streaming down her face as she hugged his aching body. “Matthew, my love. You’ve come back to me. You’ve come back to us.”

He couldn’t speak with the tube down his throat. But he knew in that moment, that he had made the right choice.