Empty Hearts and Cold Hands

Infinite Deaths

         First there was silence - In the space between heaven and the fall, deep in the unknowable distance, there was a moment when the glorius hum of heaven dissapeared and was replaced with a silence so profound that the soul strained to make out any noise.

   But it never lasted.

      "We're losing him!" The cry of a panicking doctor rang out. The light blinded me in the same way the sun did when you had been staring at it for too long.

  It hurt. It always hurt. I had died one thousand times and it always hurt.
   "Ma'am, ma'am you can't come in here!" Dying was always harder for those who weren't experiencing it.           
   "That's my son!" They'd fill the void with words, chain me down when the light was just out of reach, because they couldn't let go. I had lived one thousand times and it always hurt.
     
      "Time of death, 4:15."

  Sometimes I wished the cycle would end. The dying and the living. But it didn't. It wouldn't. Not until I fulfilled my mission. But what was the mission exactly? Well I had forgotten that too. And so it hurt. It always hurt, and then there was silence.