First of the Fallen (Neophyte Series 1)

12. Muse

                FAR IN THE DISTANCE, Michael could see another gold light amongst the sea of white, pulsating brightly like a summoning beacon from what seemed like hundreds of miles away. He knew not how he could see without eyes, or even think without a physical mind, but he could. As the ethereal light throbbed like a towering lighthouse on a distant shore, he was reminded of all the religious mumbo-jumbo he'd learned over the years about going into the light—a light supposedly leading to Heaven.

    "Death waits for me in the light, doesn't it?" the rhetorical question echoed from somewhere within. "My body was destroyed, obliterated into countless particles of golden dust. I no longer exist, and so what else but death would be beaconing me?" Lost in a realm of pure light, void of all physical matter, there didn't seem any real point in carrying on. Here, there seemed no emotion or feeling whatsoever, neither pain nor love to convince him otherwise, as though the entire realm was constructed out of pure, unfiltered neutrality.

        "What life is there left to live but that of pain and heartache?"

            "What reason would I have to go back?"

                "Perhaps this strange golden orb is the gateway to the next life. Maybe there really is another life cycle waiting in the form of a newly born child on the other side?"

    Starting anew suddenly seemed much more inviting than going back to the trauma of being Michael Archer. A chance to be reborn into a new vessel felt refreshing, like the thrill of a blank canvas to painter's eye. The prospect of being birthed to a loving family was enticing, the tender refresh of innocence more than tempting. Perhaps there would be a loving father present who actually loved him the next time around. A great sense of overwhelming burden suddenly came rushing through every thought, the pressures of a world in desperate need weighing down his shoulders with great purpose felt exhausting. It would be so much easier to move on—to let the world deal with the coming conflict on their own, and let the chips fall where they may.

    Another voice could be heard from the direction of the golden light, a nurturing female voice which seemed to match the warm, inviting rays of the orb.

    "No life is without conflict, my love."

    Michael attempted to propel himself forward; but suddenly, before he had the chance to think, his ethereal essence was floating directly before it, the journey instantaneous.

    "Life is pain—pain I can no longer bear." he replied, all trivial pretenses swept aside, as though there was no social filter in this strange realm of light.

    "Your absence is more painful than anything you have ever endured, loss felt by those you have touched. Do not condemn the world with your vacancy simply because you have felt pain. Hurt defines character, shapes and whittles us into the form we were meant to be."

    "Is it a greedy notion to want to be free of this?"

    "No." she replied. "But pain is no reason to abandon all hope. Do not be so quick to give up on Michael Archer; his value far exceeds your current perception, have you only the courage to seek deeper meaning within the many layers that make up your true essence."

    As she spoke, the neutrality of the realm seemed to break, and a swell of emotions came flooding through him all at once. If Michael had eyes to weep, he'd be soaked through.

    "But what if I could start anew? What if there is a chance for better life—a perfect life without heartbreak? I don't want to live like this anymore, stranger."

    "There is no perfect life, Michael." the voice replied. "There's just life."

    "I don't want to go back." he argued.