The Silence Following

Prologue

Then came the day, the morning and evening of the blackest shadow, the dawn to dusk of the darkest and deepest silence, the day I died.

*

I’m not sure what I expected, peace, emptiness, a life beyond? Maybe combinations, or all three. Maybe it would be something entirely different to what you imagine, what if it is just like this life, but we’re souls, or skeletons?

It has to wait, though, I hear breathing. A shallow and familiar sound that reminds me I’m still alive. I can still see the lingering wisps of my last breath swirling around my head, seeping through the tiny holes of this coffin. The box is tight at my hips and thighs, transparent and frightening. As I stare at the layers of soil above me, I realise this is the first time I have ever been buried alive.

I’m afraid its nothing too sinister however, no great plot device to a fictional hero, I’m a magician; getting buried everyday is part of my act. Now is my time to rise into the big leagues, being buried alive is a classic yet powerfully awe-inspiring trick. This is my first day trying out the great new tricks that promise to shoot my act into orbit.

As I wait for my cue, I feel …different, my hands begin to feel cold and clammy, like I‘m holding ice as it melts.
‘Something’s wrong’ I think, my breathing is tight and almost laboured, the soil above swirls dreamingly and I feel oddly ill at ease, this place is comfortable now. The box no longer seems to be squeezing my hips, my breath casually contorts into a beautiful face, then all is quiet, then all is still.

*

There may come a time in any one man’s life that they may realize, with slight discomfort, that nothing more can be done in his life, nothing he could do now will change its outcome. He knows where his life has been, has many fond and fearful memories to remind him of that, and he probably knows in that ironic and perfect way where his life will most likely come to its end. But, in those few moments before his death, taboo thoughts, feral and frightening, fill his open mind.

It is then that any stigma, cruelty or pains this man has seen, done or been victim to manifests itself into physical monstrosities that threaten to tear his very soul to pieces. This is something that seems to excel beyond human reasoning however, any human capable of understanding the sheer horror these thoughts hold would probably have be experiencing them at their own deathbed. I now understand, I am dying, yet I finally understand.

Chapter 1: The day I died

It’s over, nothing in the world the way it was, changing with the terrible pain truth can bring.
I, Nat Cowles, Sixteen years old and dying. ‘Hereditary heart condition’ they called it, me being the pick of three children, the only one to receive such a prestigious gift from my parents.
There I was, lying in a glass coffin several feet beneath sand when I felt it, the cold shiver of death.

My sense of reality blurred and faded, the last thing I remember, grasping consciousness minutes later above ground.
Several friends and colleagues rallied round, shouting, pleading, my head felt like it was going to burst with pain. Then it went black.

*

I awoke what felt like moments later, but nobody was there, I lay on the sand by my near grave and listened; not a sound.
“Sebastian? Jennifer?” My friends were nowhere to be seen, something must be desperately wrong, never has either left my side since their knowledge of my possibly immanent and fatal collapse.

I hear a horrible scraping noise coming from not far away; in the darkness and the silence it was terrifying to hear. Then footsteps, slow and heavy. No one, or nothing, answers when I call for help.

I grasp unconsciously at something sturdy, a compulsion of weakness so omniscient and powerful beyond comprehension. The feeble body that once housed this soul is renewed, the pitiable acts which were declared as improbable seem again something taken for granted. I feel free and unrestricted now, no more bonds of weakness that hounded each beat of my hearts fragile existence.

I can walk without human help or biological hindrance and my muscles seem to ache to be used, screaming without a voice, awoken from their long sleep. I step gingerly into the office I’m taken aback suddenly, sharply, making me gasp and cough.

“what the hell is going on?”

Chapter 2: Exploration

Stark. Bleak and unfriendly. The four walls of my once warm and inviting office were splattered with memories of a forgotten pain, still pearly white, but with a heart of black rock, cracked and tainted. My breath became shallow and laboured as the air dropped in temperature, the visible steam curled from my lips and froze silently into nothing. Blinking my frosted eyes, I took desperate gulps of cold air that seemed to chill my very soul, I shivered.

The room about me held little insight and comfort, the tiny light bulb hung limply from above and illuminated a tiny circular portion of the floor. There were no ornaments, furniture or windows, just one simple, omniscient chair that seemed to beckon me as though plaguing my aching muscles. The room had changed, my desk, my shelves, everything… It had all disappeared, the room held nothing of my former life, this world was nothing but a bleak copy, a twisted twin of reality.

I once more tried to call for someone, anyone; but my throat suddenly felt as though I had been testing its limits for months, screaming and crying in some unknown endeavour of madness.

But then I suddenly felt something, a presence that seemed to lurk on the edges of my subconscious, on the edge of my tongue, ready to blossom and be re-born. This thing dredged along on the outskirts of darkness, unable to be seen yet not invisible to me. I knew whatever it was waited there for a reason; a reason I did not dare or wish to guess.

I shuffled upright, the cold had ceased nipping at my lungs and burned at my skin, painful and unrelenting. Again I shivered.

Footsteps. A heavy footfall seemed to echo around the room, yet I saw no-one, not a single change anywhere. Again, thumping, louder, then silence fell like a veil. The light, my shining beacon of desperate hope flickered clumsily, then darkness too joined the all-quiet. Immediately I clawed for a wall, a corner to sit in for safety. Hope had now abandoned my renewed heart, I could feel the end coming finally. Was this the cost of freedom?

Something wet and sharp touched my face, stone cold and lethal. I whimpered, willing myself to penetrate the blackness. I could feel myself almost in tears, death did not scare me, but whatever stood before me seemed made of fear itself.
But then, the creature stopped; a guttural grunt embellished with rage uttered forth before his angular blade twisted and fell. Day had come, patches of light crept back and forth from nowhere and whatever was here before, wasn’t anymore.

The lights flickered back into existence as I shielded my eyes from the searing flare that had now engulfed the room, the walls seemed to expand outwards instantly, both of the bulbs now blazing painfully above. The room was really no different in sterility from my previous illusions, the four white walls looked as welcoming as ever, like a blank canvas waiting for the artist to mould its chastised purity into pleasure for the eye, brain and body.
Once more something wet touched my face and my eyes darted the room before they looked down upon my hands. These eyes deceive me, I blinked rapidly, desperate to shake the illusion while my mouth stifled a terrible, strangled scream. This was no illusion, my body was bloody, hands pure crimson and dripping onto the tiled floor. I began to stare dumbfounded at the trail I had left around the room. I realised with a jolt that I felt no pain, a clear and disturbing indication that the blood wasn’t mine.