Dim (Harry Styles)

prologue

How would you describe the end?

Would it be the last page of an excellent story: intense, but not too intense?

Or is it the place where the sidewalk suddenly comes to a complete stop?

The main question is: is the end a good thing or a bad thing?

For the modern population today, such views are subjective. Most children are taught standard morals and beliefs at a young age much earlier than they can even think for themselves.

It is also true that religions, practices, and beliefs all have different views on death.

Some say it's a good natural aspect; some say it's a bad, harsh punishment.

Some say it's a necessary part of all life; some say it's everlasting and eternal.

But the question remains: is the end of a life the end, or is it only the beginning?

When the time comes, people who believe in heaven expect to see white, fluffy clouds, a large golden gate, and a judge, waiting to send them to either heaven or hell. Those who believe in reincarnation expect to be given a new start, a new chance at life.

But if you're like me, a non-religious being who believes in virtually nothing, you expect nothing.

To say the least, the last thing you'd ever expect to see right after your death is a room.

A scarcely lit, dim room.

It isn't white, nor is it filled with variety.

It's more like an-off white, blurry grey with blank walls.

I find myself blinking twice, unsure of what to make of it. It takes awhile for my eyes to focus and for my thoughts to clear.

Even now, I can hardly remember what happened before this; let alone what brought me here.

Where am I, anyway?

A small noise from the corner of the room causes me to sit up quickly from the hard flooring. I expect all the blood to rush to my head as my eyes process the blank wall in front of me, simply staring at an object cluelessly.

Then I remember.

I have no head, no blood, no eyes.

No body.

Not anymore.

I glance down and examine my skin; it's the same, except it's glimmering slightly. It's almost as if it's not fully there, but as I trace my palm over the sparkly surface, the familiar feeling of skin-meeting-skin still touches my nerves. The scars have disappeared and my skin is faded, hollow, like the moon hidden underneath layers of clouds.

I shiver, glancing around the room again. No modifications have been made to it since I examined it last; it's still the same, boring grey, with a small black speck in the corner.

The same question occurs to me: Where am I?

Am I here because of the accident?

Did the impact... Kill me?

I didn't know I hit my head that hard... Did I?

Aren't the airbags in my brand-new Honda Civic supposed to work?

I glance up again, confused. The object only seems to be getting larger, moving towards me in short, small strides.

I hold in my breath and squeeze my eyes shut. This has to be a dream.

The whole entire day must be a dream; the accident included. There's just no other possible explanation.

But why does it feel so... Real?

Not before long, I open my eyes to taken a fully-grown boy, about my age, standing in front of me and peering at me expectantly.

He has gentle blue eyes, blond hair, and soft features. His skin glows, too, in the vague slightly transparent hue of my own.

I have to blink a couple more times to focus the image in front of me and rack my brain. I quietly gasp as I find myself remembering him, slightly.

But why?

From where?

Was he a close acquaintance of mine in my past?

Or is he just another lost soul, sent here to reconcile with all the wrongs he has done in his lifetime?

Because this isn't heaven. It's not the afterlife.

As far as I'm concerned, there is no afterlife.

It has to be somewhere in-between.

"Welcome to the Tra Vita e Morte, Terra Anne Hayes," the boy greets me once he is only an arm-width away, a small smile on his lips, "we've been expecting you."