Treacherous

Gone

Edgar Allan Poe wrote in "The Premature Burial" that, "the boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and the other begins?" When we die, how do we know that we are truly dead? Death is part of life. We all know that. But, where does life end and death begin? Don't those who are left behind remember us? Pass on the stories of what we did while we were alive? Do we ever truly die?

Our bodies may break down and no longer be able to function, but our lives never end. Somewhere, we have influenced someone who will continue to tell those who never knew us who we were. They will help us to live on.

But, there's still a grey area. Even if our bodies die, does some part of us still live, aside from the stories? Do we simply move out of our bodies and into another realm, another place where we will continue to live on? Who truly knows other than the people who have died, but they can't tell us, now can they?

When I was shot, I didn't see my life flash before my eyes. I saw a boy with dark hair. Terrified. Unflinching, but terrified. The eyes are the window to the soul, they say, and I could see the fear within him plain as day. He had looked at me, not blinking, barely breathing, while that man cocked the gun, aimed, and fired. He had looked at me while the bullet traveled at 1,700 mph towards my body. He had looked at me as I was knocked forward on impact, falling to his feet. He had looked at me until I couldn't look at him anymore.

Then, there was nothing. Complete blackness. No light at the end of the tunnel, no family members waiting to take me to the other side. Just...nothing.

I wanted to know what the boy had done. Had he taken my body into his arms, tears streaming down his face? Had he attacked that man in a fit of rage? Or, had he done nothing? Just turned around, walked inside, and informed the leader of my passing?

What had he felt? Sadness? Fear? Happiness? Pity, maybe? Or, all of those things? We had hardly known one another. He had told me his secrets, his past, but I couldn't tell you what he said. I could remember the kiss, though. No one would be able to forget that.

So many other things that I didn't remember. What were the names of my parents? My siblings? Who was that man that had lived with us after that incident with the government? Try as I might, I could not remember.

But, the boy. He would be someone I would always remember, even if I couldn't tell you what his name was. I only wished that I had treated him better. Or at least better than what I could remember. It was all slipping away so quickly.

The void was filling up. More nothingness. More peace. It was so much more peaceful to not have a million thoughts running through your head all at one time. No more questions, no more searching for answers. Peace. Silence. And it was so welcome. It made me oh so very happy to just feel nothing!

If I could have, I would have jumped and leaped for joy. I had never known happiness like this. At least, not that I could remember which wasn't saying much. I couldn't remember anything now. The boys face was beginning to fade away now.

No! I would not forget him! I said that I could never forget him and I was not going to go back on my word!

It was so hard, though, and just trying was beginning to make that peacefulness fade away and be replaced by something else. Frustration. Stress. I needed to see his face. I couldn't remember his name, but I needed to be able to see his face!

I tried so hard, so hard to keep his face in my mind. But, how could I control my mind now? Death was calling for me, begging for me to go to him and I needed to. Fighting to stay was futile. What good would I be if I stayed?

I wanted to go.

So, I had to let go of the boy. I had to say goodbye to him no matter how much I didn't want to.

Goodbye, boy. Whoever you were, I'm sure that we'll be able to meet again someday.

I felt the stress and the frustration leave my body along with the boy's face. It was so much more peaceful now. So much better.

The void was full. Everything was gone. I was gone.

X.X.X

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This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people is merely a coincidence. This work is a work of my imagination. Any similarities to other works of art are coincidental.