An Epilogue

I watched the blood drip through my fingers and pool into the palm of my hand. It was alive; still pumping outside the confines of a vein. A puddle of red rhythmically vibrating, echoing, mimicking the speakers of the rave. It mocked the grim reaper that disappeared into the crowd. Laughed behind his back and sang in a tune only I could hear.

“Dance, man. Why aren’t you dancing?” The slurred speech of a man with dilated pupils brought me to. He did not know that the wet touch of my back was more than just sweat. 

Maybe I died for a moment. Maybe I lived. Now, I dance while in between the two. If the sluggish sway of a man losing cups of himself could be considered dancing. I imagined that the rays of colorful lights were meant to beam down flamboyant angels. Maybe those angels wore fishnet tops and kandi assortments. Maybe those angels were in the shape of a pill. Maybe I was an angel myself. 

My arms were flailing in my head. They were reaching for the sky and falling back down again. I was dancing for the heaven that existed only for me. A heaven high above the clouds and in between the stars. It waits in the darkness where space and time no longer exists. Where no one will be waiting. The epitome of solitude and the existence of nothing. 

It’s the downfall of dying young. I will leave this realm before my grandmother, my grandfather, my mother, and my father. I will leave before I can love them and before they can love me. It’s the irony of dying. The irony of losing a life I now know was improperly lived. 

The DJ that wore a deer head was calling me back to God. He called upon the hooded man that lurked within the crowd; told him to open me up with the sting of a blade so thin. My guts escaping the reach of my soul. A soul so hidden that it too needed to be freed. 

Freed from the fear of what’s to come rather than what is. This freedom is found only in discomfort. It’s found in the acceptance of a destiny I foolishly hoped would never arrive. If only this knowledge came before the end; the knowledge that physical misery is often less than imaginary. But I’ve lost bodily function now. I’ve lost the ability to act upon inspiration. I wanted to guide the world around me through newfound faith. 

But I instead lay in the arms of an angel that cried for me. They wore a pink halo that glowed with a hydrogen peroxide shine. A shine that I wished I could see upon the hooded man’s face rather than the angel’s. So that I may look fate in the eyes one last time. I wanted to hold my bloodied hand to his face. I’d swipe my finger down his forehead in the strokes of a cross. I’d create my own altar for a death soon to come. 

I wondered if the girl lying next to me wanted to do the same. Her eyes were devoid of cognizance, but I imagined her mind was the opposite. Unless she was already gone. A loss that I will experience in just a matter of time. 

I hope to go quietly; same as her. I do not want to scream, or cry, or kick. I want to breathe deeper than ever before. I want to feel my lungs expand and compress until they sputter and drown in the blood my heart pumps. 

And I hope the angel that holds me tells my father how brave I went. I hope they tell him that I only shed a few tears. But please don’t tell him that I ran at first. I saw the reaper go for another right before he went for me. I have to die knowing that I turned my heels only to be stabbed in the back. It was a destiny meant to be. 

So don’t feel guilty, angel. Don’t feel responsible for my last breath the way I’d feel responsible for yours. You’re allowed to leave me. You’re allowed to run. Your pink halo shouldn’t dim for the sake of mine. Don’t feel guilty that it took you some time to realize that my sweat was crimson rather than clear. Don’t feel guilty that it’s too late to wrap my wound. Don’t feel guilty that I’m dying in your arms rather than my mother’s.

“I forgive you,” I wanted to say. I forgive you so I must forgive myself too. I was so terrified of the sting that I couldn’t face it when it first came. But I’ll be present now, even in death. I’ll hold my soul down deep in my chest cavity. I won’t allow a quick release, but will endure a quiet agony. 

I reached for the girl that lay next to me, but only in my mind. I’m sure she reached for me in hers. I wanted to tell her that it’s okay not to understand life until the very end. It’s okay to hold newfound regrets that have come from a change of heart. And it’s okay that we cannot act upon that very change. 

Our growth is held in our souls. We will rise from our bodies with wisdom found only in an epilogue. These bodies are soon to be without, but our spirits will live beyond the grave. We’ll embody the universe. We’ll embody time; before and after. We’ll become the destiny we used to fear and praise. 

So, I took my last breath with pride. A deep inhale that was wet, hot, and tasted of pennies. A deep exhale that sputtered and bubbled in the face of the angel. Spots of my blood drying upon their face and a puddle drying upon their arms. Thank you for holding me while your halo dims. Thank you for watching my soul change beneath my eyes.