Death Is Defying My Expectations

You know, dying isn't what I'd expect it to be. I mean I would describe the whole experience as being 'reborn' in some peculiar way. But then again, it all comes to you naturally, like blinking or breathing. Here's how it goes. You catch the last glimpse of the world and wake up on a white marble bench in a white marble train station. In your hand is a ticket.

There are other people there as well, all lined up on a grey strip of tape that warns people not to go any closer to the edge. Toddlers and children cling onto women in grey nurse uniforms. My clothes are soiled and they stick onto my frame. I tug the bottom of my blood crusted shirt and take a glance at my frail ticket. Train : 2021 - - - Passenger : 29, 778, 579. Dirt - or soot - rubs off from my hand and onto the pristine ticket. I wrinkle my nose in distaste at my own filthiness. I look so out of place in this immaculate station.

The whistle of steam and screeching of wheels can be heard in the distance, thundering closer. I get up as soon as I see faceless men begin to wordlessly guide dazed individuals off their respective benches and into the line. My mouth feels uncomfortably coated in saliva. I approach a 'worker' and open my mouth to ask an inquiry. He holds his left hand palm up to my face, as if to signify for me to stay quiet. The same hand then directs my eyes towards a sign board under a clock that I hadn't noticed before.

The Afterward Station Rules

1 . Don't talk to anyone

2 . Stay out of the way

3 . Don't lose your ticket

4 . Don't miss your train

My eyes squint to try and read the fine print under it. The train screeches to a halt and the doors open with a hiss. My head turns at the noise. The people in line look sceptical about the safety of the vehicle, but the workers roughly herd us in. The doors close around us and I can see the all too familiar look of trepidation flash across people's eyes. The nurses have disappeared, so the children latch onto anything that seems to be alive.

A tiny pair of hands close around my index finger and I glance down to find myself staring into the sparkling caramel eyes of a child. My body goes rigid and I attempt to give a reassuring smile. She yawns. The train jostles and she bumps her cheek onto my hip. She turns away and locks her attention on a girl with a faded floral dress. I still keep my eyes on her. She has strawberry blond locks that have been expertly braided into two. There isn't a single scratch on her. My hands ache to touch the strands of hair. Her grip tightens on me.

How long I have been on the train, I cannot say, but I estimate that a significant bit of time has passed. I lean against the window. The wheels squeal like drowning pigs as they grind to a stop at their first station. Everybody on the cart stumble forward. Men march into the train and haul an armful of people out, including me. All the other passengers stare. I let go of the girl's hand and she looks sad, her mouth tugging down as we part. I give an awkward wave goodbye as the doors shut once again. She doesn't spare me a second glance. We get instructed by a voice to line up in front of a desk with a lady behind it. This 'station' reminds me of a doctor's waiting room. Gives off the same vibe as well.

When it's my turn at the desk, I get issued a set of clean clothes and a grey suitcase. A door I didn't know existed opens on the left and I get rushed into a changing room with a small shower. The water only runs on cold, but I will take it, just this once. I undress and step in, ready to feel the burn, but I can't feel the stinging bite of coolness. I still shiver, but for a different reason. The shampoo and body wash are clear and unscented. Of course.

I change and stepping out in grime free body with a fresh set of clothes. I then get escorted down a corridor by people into a white, cube shaped room. The door opens and closes seamlessly. And as soon as I step in, the exit wheezes shut , blowing out a small puff of air that I can feel against my ankles. The entire room is bare except for a timer set at 00 : 00 on the left wall, and to the right is a clock, set at exactly 12 am. Not a second more, not a second less. I drag my feet to the middle of the enclosure and sit crossed legged in the middle of the floor and face the door. I lay the suitcase down in front of me. Curiosity gnaws at my brain, and I try to pry my mind from the jaws of childish wonder. Alas, my hands start gliding over the smooth plastic case of the luggage. I fiddle with the metal clasps until they detach with a satisfying click.

Once I get the heavy valise to open all the way, the first change I notice is that the timer has started to count the passing time. The next thing I notice is that the clock has begun to move backwards. I scratch my knee and shiver, which is strange because I'm not cold. Huh. I guess dying isn't what I thought it would be.

The first thing I pick up is a filthy parking ticket. It says that the parking time runs out at 2 : 35 pm. I toss it aside and go back to pawning through the objects.

A vintage wrist watch - The last remaining fragment of my grandfather.

A clay cup, messily glazed - A gift from my niece.

A well worn pair of jeans - My mother bestowed them to me on my 18th birthday.

A thick notebook - All my medical study notes. I wanted to become a doctor.

A blurry polaroid of 4 people huddled around a cake - My best friends and I.

Bead bracelets - Something I'd forgotten about a long time ago.

Mr Boo Boo Bear - An old childhood friend.

All items came with a little tag, attached by a piece of brown twine. The paper had a slight ivory tint to it. The writing is in neat cursive. The L's curving perfectly every time and the letters slanting to the right. Soon, I notice a peculiar pattern in all the objects materializing out of the case one by one. All the items are in the order of my life. Well, sort of.

Let me explain. Using my GREAT observation skills, I have figured out that the items are going backwards. So, for example, the parking ticket was the last thing I owned before I came to this blank space. And so, as I keep pulling more things out, everything keeps getting more and more childish. Signifying that we're going backwards.

My eyes catch on a grey video recorder and I pull it out. The tag simply reads 'old'. I wipe the settled dust off the top and flip open the side. It flickers on with a faint crackle. The video depicts an idle summer afternoon under a large tree that involves lots of laughter. The colours on the film are more faded than I would have liked, and the audio crackles and pops. Although I'm certain that everything was filmed only 10 to 12 years ago. I smile. If I was in a video game right now, the screen would light up with a catchy ding and say 'Memory unlocked!'

I eye the small neon pink dress. God, I can't believe I was so bright as a child. Neon this, neon that. It's giving me a headache. I try to fold the clothing as best as I can and move on, placing the dress on top of the growing mound of clothes. I fish out more beaded bracelets and a mouldy toy duck. I fight the urge to vomit.

The timer now reads over 9 days (yes I did the math,) and I'm nearing the end. I can tell by all the baby products that keep pouring out. I honestly expected me to be here for longer. My stomach swims in an indescribable feeling. A mixture of anxiety and fear about what will happen after I reach the end. 

The suitcase finally starts to empty, until only two items remain. A box and a tattered story book. I arrange them in a straight row inside the cheap, silk lined case. I eye the tattered book and hesitantly touch the cover. This will be my second last item. I lift up the fragile publication. The pages are soft and wrinkled from many years of use. It's a story about a fish and a rainbow scale or something. My eyes skim over the large font of the story book, and I can't help but compare this to all the other books I've read in my life. I'm glad this book found its way into many curious hands after being donated. I shut the cover and lay it down beside me. I inhale shakily, my hands are trembling. Time for the final item:

The tiny box.

The entire box is made of sturdy navy cardboard. The top slides off smoothly, revealing a gold necklace nestled in a tiny velvet cushion. A word has been emblazoned on the smooth, round circle hanging off of the delicate chain. The inscription is in French, so no doubt my mother - or someone from my mother's side - has gifted it to me. I let my fingers rub the metal, feeling the indents. Why was this (of all the things out there,) the first thing that was bestowed upon me?

I let out a yawn, and something invisible and heavy starts pushing at my temple. My limbs feel like lead, and I'm dazed. My throat runs dry and I hack out a cough. For the first time since I have died and come to the Afterwards, I feel tired. I uncross my numb, legs and lie on my side, staring through the slits of my eyes at the wall that has the door. A repetitive booming sound echoes through my ear, and I can't tell if it's my heartbeat or the ticking of the clock rewinding.

A part of the wall opens with a swish and people in quarantine suites advance. They're holding a black bag that resemble sacks used for storing dead bodies. I want to yell at them that I don't want to die. I want to scream. 

My consciousness keeps swimming in and out of reality, flashing scenes of a funeral, the person in the casket is unrecognisable. And for the first time since I got here, I feel uncertain. It seems like I'm sinking into ink black water, the fear of a second death creeping up my body. Somehow, this is even more terrifying than my first demise. Water leaks from my eyes, dripping down my cheek and down my nose bridge. I clutch the necklace that probably had sentimental value. The golden disk leaves a red mark on my palm.

And I lie there, my mind keeps wandering back to what would have happened if I lived a second longer. Everything becomes quiet.

I'm suddenly thrust out of my sleep and greeted by a blinding white light. I wince. The air around me is cold and smells like disinfectant. My lungs fill with a rush of air and I try to talk. It comes out as a wail. I startle. Tears overflow from my face once more as the memories of my past life flash by one by one, and then they're gone. Forgotten. Nurses and a married couple rush into view and I squirm. I feel so tiny. I blink at them through blurry lenses. The woman kisses my forehead and mutters something. I stop crying. Why was I crying in the first place? The man smiles and simply says, "Welcome to the world, Evie." I smile.

I guess dying isn't what I'd expect it to be after all.