I fall to my knees like a dancer who has failed to impress, and I weep. I weep like I have never wept before. I would rather that you not press me further on the matter. Perhaps some day I will become a legitimately good poet (I know despite whatever you say, you – yes, you! – do find my poesy slightly annoying), and then I may be able to put this feeling behind my weeping into words.
However, right now, when I open my tearful eyes and see the world from the pale lens of salty water, I see two gleaming figures up ahead, standing hand in hand. I cannot make out their faces.
All around me, is light. Pure, white light. This is, like, the opposite of what it’s like to be in the Void.
‘We’re proud of you, son,' says the first twinkling figure. ‘None of this was your fault, what happened that night on your birthday. Don’t blame yourself.’
I cry harder as I hear the voice, further blotting my already botched vision.
‘We love you more than anything, sugarplum,' says the second figure. ‘We never got to say a proper goodbye.’
I cry harder yet. I step forward, but it’s like I’m drifting instead of walking. ‘Dad . . . Mom . . . '
Together, they speak: 'We will always be there with you. Always . . .’
I reach forward with my hand, but the two shimmering figures – like sparkles on an empty, bland parchment, or more like the moon on a starless night – merge into one and emit a fazing blast of light . . . then they move past me.
And descend into the chest of an astonished, one-armed man standing behind me.
The harmony of those two voices repeats: 'Always . . . '
YOU ARE READING
Sort of Dead
Humor**This book features short, fun, snappy chapters** **Perfectly fine as a standalone** [Caution: may pack a couple of gutpunches.] "First things first: this is the story of how I die. Over and over again." __________________________________ Marra is...
