My last breath in life is my first in death, and it stings something fierce.
The air has a bitter taste, and the apex of the reddish hallucinatory sky drifts toward the void of what looks to be an endless desert. It becomes impossible to know where the horizon begins or ends.
The sound of the howling wind is unbearable, and I want to cover my ears, but I have no hands, no arms. I let loose a shriek … but then, I have no mouth, it seems.
Buh-bump.
What is this place? I sense other beings around me, but they are formless shadows drifting at the periphery of my vision. They speak, or I hear voices whispering in some unknown tongue, at least.
Buh-bump. Buh-bump.
Tiny pairs of rubies glow in the middle distance as the hot wind kicks up sand and dirt. The whispering grows louder, as if thousands of voices have taken up the liturgy. I try to look down at my body, but I cannot move.
Buh-bump. Buh-bump. Buh-bump.
As my legs begin to form, I see the relatively clear outline of a figure perched on a rock like a cat. Two crimson eyes glow at the center of a jet-black mass, but my sight blurs as soon as I make eye contact with it. The ringing in my ears grows louder. It’s an odd humming sound not unlike that of a beetle in flight. The sound bloats until it arrives at a distinct, deafening point, which causes my eardrums to burst. The buzzing suddenly ceases and is replaced with a peaceful alternative.
Almost like I’m being plunged in water. I feel safe, submerged like this. Calm. I worry that returning to the surface of this nonwater will drown me.
What is this?
I sense death, but not like the death overhanging the battlefield moments before. It’s not good or evil, just … old. Ancient. Timeless, even. I don’t want to leave it, but I know intrinsically that I must. I must swim to the surface only to drown. To die again. It’s the only way I can get back.
Why do I want to get back?
I grasp for something. Anything. A tether to my life. A face. I was trying to remember a face. But whose?
I’m nearer to the surface now. My mind is coming back to me. I think I remember how to breathe, but not here, not now.
A girl. That’s who I was trying to remember.
Who is she? Brown strands of her hair flow past me. A memory. She smiles wide, but she can’t giggle. She’s deaf. I learned how to use handwords for this girl.
She’s my daughter. That’s it! The realization is as comforting and warm as a down blanket. What is her name?
Emily.
I think her name, hold it close to me, and the blackness melts away.