Conversation at the End

Nothing but darkness.

A feeling of floating in space, tranquility unlike that of falling hundreds of metres through the sky. No matter how I wrack my brain, I can't figure out why my feet don't touch the ground. My senses haven't quite caught up. Are my eyes seeing pitch black or are they missing entirely? I'm filled with many questions, none more pressing than what direction to move after meeting my untimely demise.

Am I angry at my organisation for discarding me?

I can't say that I am. Were I in their position, I would have likely done the same. There doesn't exist a fantasy where a dangerous creature can exist without one day being exterminated. The fact that I was allowed to live as long as I was is a miracle that may never occur in another one hundred years.

My head attempts to turn, but I can't even feel the strain of muscles.

"Is this my future, now?"

Thousands of souls have been sent here by my very own hands during my time. Before I could pull the trigger, I would hear their prayers. Some hoped for a paradise on the other side. Those kinds of people may have even been thankful once they reached it. Others believed their deaths to be only a beginning, a start that was only hastened by my arrival. The victims that fought back the hardest couldn't fathom an existence beyond Earth. All was lost the moment their hearts stopped beating.

This emptiness is suffocating. I suppose this kind of ending is fitting for a killer. Were I given more time to live, countless more lives would have been taken by my professional activities. For me, it was just business. For them, it was horror.

"Do you have any regrets?"

If my current form had hands, I would have already pulled the trigger. The source of the voice doesn't have a single direction. Thinking about directions in this space might be a flaw on its own. Accompanying the inquisitive noise is a subtle ticking of a clock.

Regardless of where it is, I have no better option than to respond.

"No."

"That was a quick response."

"Of course."

I aim my voice directly at the otherworldly presence around me. My soul does not betray any uncertainty, because there is none. The words emanating from my castaway existence could not be more clear.

"There is no need to concern myself with my past. I lack the power to make any changes, even if I wanted to."

"Would you change the past if you could?"

The question prods against me with a curiosity that most would likely find infuriating. Humans lie to hide their weakness, but that is impossible in a space like this. Whatever regrets or selfish wishes you have would be out and trivial to witness.

The entity awaits a response, but I can't provide an interesting show. It's a common thought experiment to consider traveling back in time, one that I saw no reason to humour even in life. In this land of endless possibility, my answer remains the same.

"I would not."

"Why is that?"

A brief inflection in that presence causes the ticking to grow louder.

"My future is the consequence of my actions, this is true for all humans. To deny this simple requirement of life would be an immediate sign of incompetence. I choose not to become what I find to be cowardly."

Silence. A few moments of peace are eventually broken by an uncharacteristic chuckle.

"Interesting…you truly are fascinating…"

"Considering my situation, you wouldn't mind if I asked a few questions of my own?"

A particularly loud tick of an invisible clock hand rings in my head.

"Go ahead."

"Much appreciated. First…"

My brain tries to push flesh and bones as if it still existed, but there is no feeling to be found.

"What is this place?"

"An expected first question. What was unexpected was how long it took for you to ask."

I don't have a shoulder, but I feel a figure rest a hand on it. I don't have eyes, but I feel like I can see a hand waving out in front of my face at the scenery.

"Consider this to be the space before you pass on. Do you believe in an afterlife?"

"I do not."

"Excellent. That must explain your patience in turning into dust. For legal reasons, I'm unable to tell you what happens once you leave this space. Rest assured, you won't be here for long."

The voice was rather cordial before, but that doesn't seem to be the case now. Whatever it is, it seems to be enjoying this unfortunate interaction.

"Next, why am I here?"

"Because your journey is not quite over yet."

Not over? I had a bullet put into my head. There shouldn't be anywhere else for me to go. Even if there was, do I have the willingness to continue from a different starting point? I took my shot at life and missed. That alone should spell my end.

I'm given no time to ponder the cryptic words entered into my mind. It feels like my eyes have finally opened for the first time since I saw red. What I see is a blurry image that seems to resemble a clock. The second hand ticks once every second, the minute hand ticks at the start of a minute. Everything is functional even if the form is not complete.

"We appear to be running out of time. This was quite the experience, one that I hope you also enjoyed."

The ticking all around begins to rumble my very being.

"You have a long journey ahead of you. I would say 'good luck', but you don't seem like the guy to need that."

Just as my life once faded to black, my death begins fading to white. I have no power to stop whatever is coming, but one last question keeps me pushing against the oncoming force. My existence is being drowned by the clock face's light, but I continue to feel no panic.

"Who are you?"

I can't see him, whoever he is. However, somewhere in the darkness behind me is a smile.

"Just a scholar of sorts. I eagerly await our next meeting, Clark."

We are unable to share any further words before the space is no more.