A Dream of Sunlight and Voices

I was left in darkness.

It is a collar around my throat, chaining me to the center of an infinite nothing. It is my personal cosmos, my prison, my very being. Time has vanished, replaced by an endless stretch of emptiness, which I alone inhabit. Through great effort, I have nearly forgotten the light.

It was not always like this. Once, I walked in the world of light, but I failed to see it. Relentlessly striving to secure my fortune, I shunned the fruitless exploits of the idle. Wealth beget power, and power demanded more. Always seeking the next iteration of my success, I allowed myself to be led astray. Victim of a cruel jest, I traded everything for nothing. 

The old woman’s draught had brimmed with promises. Her honeyed words had told me exactly what I’d wished to hear, and my own foolishness had taken care of the rest. I paid steeply for that vial of amber liquid. I’d nearly begged her for it, and all the while, she’d feigned reluctance, each refusal designed to drive me mad with desire. Finally, she’d relented, and I’d basked in the triumph of my indomitable will, failing to suspect the magnitude of my folly. I can still taste the potion; it’s all I can taste. It is a bitter reminder of my humiliation. I’d downed it eagerly, giddily. Confusion had followed, confusion and the wheezing cackle of the old hag.

It had taken me some time to grasp what was happening to me. I could hear the burial rites. Though my eyelids had been sewn shut, I could somehow see the mourners gathered around me. I’d screamed for help, for someone to rescue me from my unfolding nightmare, but the screams only echoed in the halls of my mind. I’d watched as those poised to inherit my estate had closed the lid of my luxurious casket. As the darkness took me, I told myself that I’d simply been drugged, mistakenly placed in a casket, accidentally buried alive. I was wrong. 

Partly. 

Consciousness, the soul, the part of us beyond the physical raiment that we’re held within; it is supposed to die with our flesh. Or, perhaps, it is released by death, returning to whence it came. I’d wished for neither, but to live forever, master of my own mind for all of time. The wonders I would accomplish! The glories I would achieve! My magnificence would be everlasting, my will supreme!

Unfortunately, my wish had been granted. Though the grave has changed my body, my mind remains. 

At first, I clung tightly to my anger, sought for an explanation, strove for a way out. I bargained with an absent god, raged at the duplicitous old witch. I could see her, counting my money and crowing over my gullibility. A thirst for vengeance burned within me, one that was impossible to quench. The very fact that I would never be able to do so only increased my fury. Unable to move my body, my mind thrashed ceaselessly. At some point, as decomposition set in, and I could feel the maggots writhing under my skin, squirming in my eye sockets, and scooting along my esophagus, my sanity collapsed entirely.

Yet, there was nowhere for the tattered remains of thought to go, no last resort to end my suffering. The shattered pieces of my mind simply dissolved into a new form, just as my blackened flesh eventually oozed apart and puddled around my bones. The utter permanence of my state allowed for no escape through madness. I am keenly aware of everything, always. All of my fear, misery, and impotent rage has long since been worn away, as a rough coastline is sanded down by the ceaseless pounding of the waves. All that remains now is a sort of dull acceptance, a monotony of misery that has flattened every thought into submission. The will that once moved mountains and turned the tides is now a mere passenger of physical decay. The corpse that was and continues to be me will eventually be dust, yet I am doomed to hover within it forever.

But now, something new. Though I have no ears with which to hear, a faint sound reaches me. A muffled scraping. My eyes that do not exist search the darkness. Something dormant within me, something that I’d convinced myself was gone, stirs as the scraping grows louder, closer. 

Voices.

After an eternity of silent darkness, I can hear voices. They are like echoes from a distant epoch. A fissure spreads across the calcified shell of acceptance that I’ve carefully encased myself in. Hope, the long-abandoned scourge, is bursting forth like the first weeds of spring. I can feel the pounding of a heart that, desiccated, crumbled apart years ago. 

The lid of my casket rattles, and then it is pulled away, flooding me with the blinding light of heaven. My immortal senses scream in ecstasy, and I weep with joy. I may be tethered to my bones, but at least I am free of the darkness. Salvation has arrived. I will be lifted into the light and removed from this terror.

The outline of a person kneels above me, their head eclipsing the sun. I cry out in jubilation, and, after a moment, the form shakes its head. 

“This isn’t the one. Close it up.”

The form rises and, seconds later, I watch as the casket lid swings shut again.

I don’t know what they are seeking, or how long I scream for them to stop, to look again, to help me. It doesn’t matter. Darkness returns with a horrible finality. Falling dirt follows, each thud against the lid splintering my mind anew. I am living it all again.

Eventually, the rain of dirt tapers off, and the eternal silence resumes. The light is gone, only an afterimage dancing before me, fading into black.

There I remain, and will always remain, forever haunted by a brief dream, a memory of the light that refuses to be forgotten.