Drifting Into Nothingness


I get up this morning. What’s unusual? I wake up to the sound of a sea-gull on my window sill and I live in a city. So I get up wondering what’s wrong and I gasp in utter amazement. My normal Mondays start with the symphony of hollering and incessant honking. But this morning everything is calm… Am I dead? I wonder. Am I still dreaming…can’t say.

I look out of the window and this is what I see. I seem to have somehow drifted into the middle of an archipelago. I panic and look for my phone: no network. I pounce on my laptop: no wi-fi. Is it really happening? Maybe if I go back to sleep I will wake up normal again. But the tides lashing against the shore keep me wide awake and aware and despite its wickedness it’s the reality.

I put on my loafers intending to poke around unaware that there is yet another surprise waiting for me. In the TV room there is everyone that I have ever met in my life, even people who departed before we could put a meaningful end to our journey, some who severed ties with me on account of their own insecurities and some I had stopped talking to a long time ago.

Though they don’t seem to notice that I have entered, they all look lost in their own worlds. My heart aches to hug them and fling open my arms to the torrent of memories, but I am like a dummy. Everyone has chosen to ignore me. I feel stupid already, but then this has transcended my levels of comprehension. I don’t realize that my body has stopped recording the feeling of fear and paranoia. In the background I can hear the mechanical beeps submerged in the cacophony of vague murmurs.

That’s when my eyes fall upon him, a figure dressed in black, unusually pale skin and deep dead blue eyes. “You are dying,” he says. “I had to watch over you and I failed. I looked away for one moment and you were gone so here I am. Starting from today I will take you to each person in this room. You can say proper goodbyes and when it’s all over, you come with me.” He extends his skinny yet strong hands and I oblige like I have no control over myself.

Originally published at Neat Shots of Life.

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