The Ascending

Chapter 2

I know we haven't yet established the fact that I'm in either heaven or hell, but it's a progress to guarantee that I am, indeed, dead.

There's no convincing evidence yet, but one does not simply slit her wrists multiple times and still get to live another day. After that nasty incident (forgive me for I cannot dive into the details now), I remember the particular sensation of drifting away from my consciousness and feeling myself fall into a deep sleep.

How many hours have passed since I woke up here?

I have observed that unlike earlier, where I am as stiff as a board, I can now move my arms and legs freely but my neck remains rigid. I lifted my left arm to see the scars on my wrists, and I was surprised to see that I had made quite a few deep cuts. You can easily tell because the skin around it is protruding, but aside from that, I have no pain indication whatsoever to tell that I just slitted my wrists. It doesn't hurt and it doesn't feel uncomfortable either. If any, I feel proud for making it this far because let's be honest, how many of us can pluck the courage to cut himself to death? I bet not even Samuel Jackson has the balls to pull that out.

That leaves me to the suspending dilemma of my current state.

I know what you must be thinking. I must have survived my suicide somehow, and left into this weird hospital-like room then woke up feeling dazed and thought I must be dead. But no. I can feel it inside me, but I'm not quite sure how to point it out.

When you're living, you're full of awareness of yourself and much less for others. An itch at the back of your hand feels grievious compared to other people's problems. Or that minor annoyance you got from last week's delayed mail is much worse than your neighbor's problems. But here, I feel nothing of sort. It seems weird, but it feels like my body is no longer with me. I know I'm still in it, but it feels like I have transcended into something more immaterial than my physical body. I can feel that my body have perished, but my consciousness and thoughts were untouched.

My old Science middle school teacher crossed my mind. Back in the sixth grade, he was the one who taught us that there is no afterlife. When you die, you cease from existing. That's it. Your consciousness does not drift elsewhere, nor does your soul. You don't get to be reincarnated for your next life. But despite of that sinking realization, you would still be living in the form of the plants and microorganisms who feasted on your decaying corpse. He said that last part with a smile, as if expecting a bunch of middle schoolers to grasp consolation in being eaten by maggots and earthworms.

However, my deep epiphany isn't reassuring enough to convince me I'm dead and not just in any other hospital. Just to be exactly sure, I looked around once more to confirm that no medical apparatus whatsoever is attached to me.

Nothing. I don't feel the uncomfortable sting of having a dextrose attached in my forearm, nor do I hear the annoying beeping noise of a heart monitor. I've been to a few hospital trips enough to familiarize myself with some medical apparatus. But there's none here. Nothing whatsoever to indicate that I'm in a hospital.

So that leaves me to the terrifying conclusion that I must be truly and undeniably dead.

--

The living back on Earth would be surprised that not all philosophical questions about life is answered in death. They thought that death delivers the answer to understand your existence and life itself. Although for me, being dead is nothing more like finally accessing a locked level in a video game. The hardwork and effort you invested in the previous level will be compensated not with some interesting relevation, but with a chance to start a new level all over again.

Yes, I am at peace. But that doesn't mean I have all the answers I seeked for even when I'm still alive. As a matter of fact, the questions have increased tremendously ever since I woke up.

Where am I?
What am I doing here?
Does my parents back on Earth know that I'm already dead?
Who will feed my dog now?

Nonetheless, I don't let my constant stream of curiosity get in the way of enjoying the peace I have so long desired.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm grieving my own death. How do you think I got here in the first place? As a matter of fact, a sensation of relief and pride swept me. However, I can't help but feel a little uneasy. I killed myself to escape my life on Earth, but now that I'm here, I haven't got any idea of what to do. As shameful as it is, I must admit that I lack long term plans on being dead.

But I chose this, and now I must face the consequences of a dead man.

Death itself is not frightening. The terrifying part comes after it. I'm dead, now what?