Out of Body

Have you ever heard the saying that 'life flashes before your eyes' the moment before you die? You heard it all the time from those waking up in hospital beds, making it back from a near-fatal injury or disease. Each and every one swore so. But reality wasn't that simple.

After all, they were the ones who survived.

So what about the ones who died?

Black. That was the only thing she saw. Or more accurately, there was nothing to see. All that existed was a pitch black void, if that even existed in the first place.

"----" she tried to say, but no sound came out. She tried to check her throat, but her arms didn't respond either. Are they not there? she wondered; however, she had no way to confirm. Looking downward, if she even was, told her nothing.

Then, "she" appeared: a young woman who stood out in the strangest ways despite her aver-- beauty. A blue crop top a few sizes too large. Gray ripped jeans exposing all the wrong, and private, places. Flipflops made to look like high heels. And who could forget that hairstyle which spontaneously changed? Yes, a woman so unforgettable that she forgot who it was. Then she realized.

She was "her", but at the same time, she wasn't.

There was something off about "her" appearance. A few extra wrinkles here or there, maybe? Or were her breasts a few sizes too small? Or perhaps it was more subtle, like a strange crease of the brow?.

What about "her" expression? A lifeless doll with no will of its own. A neutral face that screamed indifference. So perfectly still, yet so lifelike.

It was eerie. Almost... uncanny, as if she was frozen in time.

She looked left, attempting to find the source of this unsettling feeling. As she did, "she" moved as well, shrinking the further she turned. The oh-so beautiful features turned cute and awkward. The clothes became more reserved, though still chaotic. Countenance morphed in various ways as movements played in reverse. "She" was growing younger, going through the life she once lived in this theater of the void.

How interesting... she thought with a sense of unease. Wait... why unease? I would normally be excited about this kind of thing. Looking left makes me younger? That should spark my inspiration...

Then, what happens if I look right?

... Wordlessly, she turned her head back, watching "her" grow older until the moment she first saw "her". Then, she looked right.

Or, she tried to.

Her head never moved any further, as if someone overwhelming force kept it in place. Well, I am trying to get a glimpse into the future. It makes sense that it wouldn't work. Human magic, as powerful as it was, could not affect the flow of time. Her boundless mana couldn't eclipse that of the Earth, much less of the solar system and the universe beyond. Controlling all that was the bare minimum to even attempt such a foolish endeavor, though it would still fall short for a variety of reasons. At best, she could slow down her own time on a microscope scale.

And yet, with all that, she could still move her eyes. Right, future sight is a spell too. But that's also as complicated as space magic. But here... Although limited, she should be able to see her own future. It sparked her imagination, her sense of unease growing.

Something was wrong, but she took a glance anyway.

...

...

...nothing.

There was nothing but the endless void.

Wait, that's not right. 'Something' is there, but I can't see it. I can only sense it coming. But why? If it's the future, I should be experiencing it right...

"--" She quickly turned back to the left.

"She" was glancing over at her, unable to see, yet somehow able to sense. "She" was her past, trying to glimpse the future that was the present. Then, "she" saw a third "her" glimpsing into the past. Then, a fourth. A fifth. And on. And on. And on.

This was what she was looking for, the end she was desperately searching for. Something curious, interesting, amazing, and astounding. Something breathtaking, inspiring, spectacular, and astonishing. Thousands of ideas should've been whizzing through her mind, trying to piece together anything for her song.

But nothing came.

She couldn't think of anything.

Her heart didn't beat, nor did her pulse rise.

She didn't feel alive.

Why would she? Her past was the experiences she built upon that set her off on this journey. Her future was what she had yet to experience, anticipation growing until its resolution. But she wasn't her past, nor was she her future.

She was the present: a transition between what she couldn't reach to what she already did. A place where nothing remained, only a lingering sense of what happened. A moment that could never move on.

That's what death was.

And because of that, she only had one thought:

I don't want to die.