A Life After Death?

Is this adrenalin? It feels as if I’ve lost contact of my body. No, I haven’t. There’s something in my back. I can’t move. I open my mouth and a vacant gasp is all I can produce. The pain is coming. There’s something boring into my ribs. A rock? A stick? I don’t know. My right arm is broken. My legs won’t respond. Am I… am I dying? This is so cruel. I didn’t even want to come on this stupid hiking trip in the first place. I hate hiking. I wanted to spend the weekend at home binge-watching reruns, not walking around in the middle of nowhere. Why did I let her talk me into this? Why do I always let people talk me into things I don’t want to do?

My left hand found something. I grabbed it, lobbing it with all my strength toward the ridge. The dirt clod barely got a yard and then rolled back down hitting me with more force than I had originally put behind it, its impact drawing even more attention to how difficult it was for me to catch my breath. My bag? I had been carrying it by one strap and lost it when the path gave out. I could see it down the slope, caught in a bush about forty yards away. My phone was in the front. I tried to comfort myself that there wouldn’t be any reception down here anyway, but that didn’t seem to make me feel any better.

The sun was on a decline. The path we were taking would circle back without needing to turn around. It would be after dark before they noticed I was gone. They would probably just think I was taking my time. Stupid. I’m so stupid. Why did I want to take a break? Why did I tell them to just go on without me? The way the three of them smiled, like I had pulled the thought right out of their heads. I don’t get it… I don’t understand. Why did they invite me in the first place?

Breathing was so difficult, the pain in my ribs was agonizing. I tried to lift my head, but my neck wouldn’t let me, and my eyes took a good minute to return to normal vision. My left hand felt my chest and the answer became excruciatingly clear I had punctured my lung. A branch or some kind of root had gone straight through impaling me.

What a joke.

A thought pricked the back of my mind as to whether or not I would succumb to my wounds or have the privilege of dying of exposure? Maybe I would be eaten by a bobcat or a bear. I’m crying. How pathetic. Isn’t this just what I deserved?

“I feel sorry for him.” That’s what she had said when her friends came to pick us up. I was saying hi to her friend’s boyfriend, I don’t think she thought I could hear… but I did. I had said yes because I felt bad saying no. Kara had gone out of her way to invite me, she had tried to make me feel welcome as the new guy. Turns out, it was simple pity that had made her think of me. Nothing changes. Everything stays the same. Now I’m going to die all alone on some God forsaken mountain. What luck.

What’s this? Cherry blossoms? Do they even grow here? Where are they coming from? There aren’t any trees blooming around here. It’s autumn, they’re not even in season. But it’s kind of nice to see something beautiful before I die. I’m so tired. It’s so hard to breathe. Why couldn’t I have stayed with the party, or just have said no. Why? Why… does it have to end like this?

-*-

Texture. Granules like silt. The eternal darkness parted. An image of royal blue night painted around the bodies of old trees formed with 4D texture. Cold and stiff, the sensation of frigid saturated clothes and a sudden uncontrollable urge to breathe triggered an autonomic gag and then a violent fit of coughing. Leaning on his arms a sense of weakness grew up from his palms into his shoulders and back. It was difficult to shift onto his knees, standing was near impossible for several minutes.

Is this what death feels like? What it looks like? A wondering thought.

Several faulting steps took him away from the bank of the river to the base of the forest where weariness led him to seek support from one of the old trees.

I imagined death would feel different than this. Not so tiring… not that I was sure there would be feeling at all. I’m in some kind of forest maybe I survived somehow.

The trees here are more deciduous than those on the hiking trail and there was a river. Across to the other bank a huge cliff face rose high out of sight, its harsh line cutting into the night sky, shear and impossible.

“This can’t be the same place.” A hand rose to his throat.

I just spoke, but that wasn’t my voice.

A prickling feeling, a sharp shrill sound. Moving on reflex, he fell into a crouch just in time to avoid the arrow that took root in the bark where only moments before he had been leaning.

It came from upstream, the trajectory suggested whoever had shot it was hiding in the trees along the other bank. On his feet again he was running, dodging through the surrounding forest. A second shrill sound. He grabbed a branch swinging himself up into the canopy.

How am I doing this?

An inner instinct told him to keep moving. The great limbs caught his weight easily. Adrenalin and physical impulse propelling him.

Have I woken up in some medieval hell?

On he went, autopiloted subverting conscious will. Another arrow, this time it grazed his leg, a hot stream of blood flowed from the wound. It stung, a sharp ache spilling up his calf into his knee and hip.

Crap. Poison. How do I know that?

Five minutes. His grip gave. He fell like lead to the forest floor, world pulsating, that strange familiar struggle for breath. It was a neurotoxin. Soon his respiratory system would shut down and he would suffocate.

Why? Why is this happening. I already died once, didn’t I? There has to be something I can do. There has to be.

Something was coming closer, the sound was faint, but he could still perceive it. That strangely familiar noise of leaves and low growing foliage beneath a careful foot. A spark of light far off. A blade being pulled from a sheath.

The leather bracer on his arm. There was something there, a small brass tube.

A whistle?

In a last-ditch effort he moved behind a tree. Putting all the air he had left behind the sound. High, shrill. It ripped through the still night. The footsteps stopped. The world fell perfectly still. A single step. A sound answered back, high and near.

The soft footsteps retreated. He was alone. A gasp, an agonized play for air. Falling to his side the leaves clung to his damp skin, his own heavy perspiration mingling with the moisture soaking through his clothes. A stiff breeze sent a sick shiver across his skin.

I’m going to die again and so soon. This is really cruel. So unfair. Will I wake up again just to have this repeat itself, or will I pass to some unknown ending, some dark afterlife?

That feeling. Tears flowing from his eyes, down the sides of his face into his hair. The leaves above him were dark and ominous, swaying in the night breeze.

I’m so pathetic. I’m such a waste. I just want to go home. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m not made for this kind of stuff, whatever it is.

The world shuttered in a black haze. The leaves now indistinguishable from each other. A long shallow gasp barely passed deeper than his throat withering against his dry palate. Movement. Voices. They were all meaningless. Meaningless.

Mom…

The light changed. Something was moving over him.

Dad…

His vision began to collapse.

I’m sorry…

A pin hole of vague light.

If I survive… If I wake up again, no matter to what life… I won’t live it passively. I won’t be content just coasting. So please… please let me have another chance.