The more people change, adapt and evolve as a species, the more things irrevocably and ultimately stay the same. The sun always rises in the east and sets to the west. The moon always has its phases as it grows from darkness to light, and then back as it rests. Even as great gray walls are erected and cities are built to house humanity en masse, the very nature of being human has not once changed in the end.
Life begets more life. And death, well - death, ultimately, arrives eventually and oftentimes without any warning or explanation. The unforgiving, usually unwanted visitor that snatches our loved ones away when we least expect it. People, without question, will always succumb to this fate eventually, no matter how long and hard one seeks out the magical elixir of eternal life and youth. Though, humans surely can attempt, no? Whatever gives them solace and peace in their fleeting existence, attempting to defy reality.
Without a doubt, death remains a constant even when it inevitably also evolves with us and integrates as part of the society we’ve built around ourselves. I’ve met death once before, as you might garner from all of that. Our meeting wasn’t by chance, nor was it under a circumstance that I can find any pride in, yet I cannot say I regret it either. I’ll say in no uncertain terms though, we did meet on what I would describe as the darkest night of my life. As a result, I came to realize that everything I thought I knew about the world, life, death, and even God, wasn’t all that it seemed. Not even my view on humanity itself, and each face that passes by me on the sidewalk every day, was quite as I’d always believed. Everything I thought I knew - was wrong. I was never quite so happy to learn that I could be so utterly wrong about everything, either.
I’ll tell you the story now, of how Death doesn’t ride a horse, or row a boat to ferry you across the River Styx. Death wasn't quite glamorous, nor were they a macabre skeleton with a scythe held at my neck while reaping my soul. For me, Death drove a plain white bus in the dead of night, politely pulling up to the sidewalk where I waited without quite knowing just what I was waiting for.
–
I can't remember what was going through my head or even the circumstances that led up to it, in all honesty. I remember the dread in my stomach, the pain in my chest, the bruises and cuts all over my body - both self inflicted and otherwise. I can't remember the exact instance that finally sent me over the edge, but I do remember that it was a conglomeration of many things. Low self worth. No confidence. I was a doormat to everyone and everything because as far as I cared, I didn't matter. My feelings didn't matter. I was a failure of a person in every way, someone who could never please anyone, no matter how hard I tried to. These ideas had been drilled into me from a young age, as seems to be true for a good many people who suffer the same feelings.
I remember how tired I was of everything, of absolutely everything and how badly I wanted it all to end. To end, permanently. After all, if I was as worthless as I felt at that moment, as useless and pitiful as everyone made me feel, then it wasn't a loss to anyone. Much less myself, since I wouldn't be wasting space, consuming food, and otherwise being in everyone else's way. I'd finally stop feeling, finally stop being a burden, and everyone else would finally be rid of me at long last. It was a comforting thought, as horrific as it was. I knew it was horrifying. I also didn't care.
So, come the dead of night and somewhere between feeling that existential dread buried in the pit of my stomach, and feeling nothing but absolute numbness, I did it. I took my entire bottle of sleeping medication, choking down every single pill with a certain finality that set in only after I'd swallowed them. This would be freedom. This would be the release from pain I'd sought all along! I laid there in the darkness of my bedroom afterwards, waiting for the inevitable sluggishness of my brain shutting down, and the shallow breaths I could only imagine would soon join, until they ceased all together. Death would claim me that night, and I finally felt peace knowing it.
–I couldn't really explain why even if I tried, but I remember laying there in the dark, feeling my consciousness starting to slip after a bit. I was crying of all things. In spite of this being exactly what I wanted, I was crying like a damned fool and soaking my stupid, ugly old pillow with those tears. I'm sure I cried all the way until I finally lost consciousness all together, but I can't remember that much. By that point I wasn't even aware if my breathing ever did stop. Everything was pure darkness. Everything was also peaceful.
–Or maybe I'm interjecting that feeling, in hindsight. Maybe at that moment I didn't actually feel anything at all because I'd lost that capacity with the total shutdown of mental function. It sounds better to say I was at peace, though, doesn't it?
–And then, I woke up. Sort of.
I woke up in a place I didn't exactly recognize at first; like waking up somewhere you don't remember falling asleep and having to retrace your steps so you can remember exactly how you got there. Except, I couldn't retrace my steps, and when I ‘woke up’, I was just standing outside with the rain pouring down all around me. It took a while of me just standing there in the rain for the memory of the night to slowly come back to me, vivid snapshots of my own body laying there in that old, shitty bed I slept on every night.
The memories of taking my medication, purposely overdosing myself to end it all. Where I normally felt that horrid existential dread buried in my stomach like a bar of lead, I found that I felt nothing anymore. It wasn't the numbness of before, either - maybe peace is the best way I can describe it. Peace that soon held a bittersweet edge to it, a weird sense of finality that was dawning on me the longer I stood there in the rain. The rain, I didn't feel it after all. It was like teardrops from the sky, I thought - crying for me? That was a hard one to believe, but I felt it in my stomach somehow, where the dread of before had overshadowed everything else.
I started to walk, hands outstretched in front of myself as if to try and catch and feel that pouring rain all around me. Yet, I could feel nothing - as if the rain was unable to touch me anymore. As if I was simply there, and yet nowhere at the same time. Existing, but not. Alive in a sense, but I already knew the truth in that I had succeeded and this wasn't just some kind of deep dream. At that moment, I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that I was dead and there was no going back from that.
It was a weird sense that I can't describe in a way that is easily understood unless you've felt a similar way - but the closest thing I can use to describe it must be intuition. It was a feeling that echoes outward from the stomach and creates a little voice in your head, or perhaps an automatic epiphany of some sort. As I walked alongside a long stretch of road, with the sun setting somewhere in the distant beyond that I couldn't see, I knew I'd squandered something invaluable. Something so precious in the world, that had slipped between my open hands like sand.
It certainly hadn't felt like it in the moment - it felt like the only way out of the personal hell I was living in. Maybe that had also been an excuse. An easy way out of dealing with it all alone, because I felt so damn powerless to deal with it all on my own. Or maybe it was believing in the lies others had told me about myself, believing that maybe they could see through me in ways I couldn't see myself. Whatever the reason was, whatever I had chosen and acted on, I didn't blame myself somehow. It didn't feel right to. It was bittersweet and terribly sad to have it all dawn on me with the weight finally off my shoulders, but I didn't immediately hate myself as I normally would have. I didn't spiral into a self-loathing mantra of all the ways I was a fucking idiot.
I just was. I was just a human. A human who had made a sad, but understandable mistake. What was done was done.
I didn't wander for very long, it seemed. It felt like it couldn't have been more than ten or twenty minutes at most, although the exact amount of time is still not known to me. Eventually, up ahead of me on the road, I saw a big white bus driving up - the first sign of any kind of ‘life’ I'd seen since I woke up. I waved, flailed, and held my hands out in hope that maybe they would see me and stop, even if the idea felt absurd given my epiphany of being dead. To my surprise, the bus slowed and pulled off to the side, before coming to a complete stop just feet away from where I stood. The mechanical doors opened up a moment later, inviting me in without a word. I remember standing there dumbly for a few minutes, as if processing that the bus was, in fact, stopping for me and that I was welcome there.
I remember being surprised by that. Despite all my flailing about on the side of a road like an absolute madman, I really hadn't expected it to stop for me. I hadn't even expected it to be able to see me - although in hindsight once more, a pure white bus on an otherwise empty and desolate road, is just a tiny bit abnormal, no? I know now that it was going to stop regardless of my flailing, but I did give the driver a bit of a laugh at least.
“Well? Waiting for something?” The driver said with what I'd call a charismatic smile and a melodious chuckle. I was dumbstruck just a moment more before I shook my head quickly and climbed aboard, taking the first seat that I could find at the front. A quick survey around the bus and I would realize I wasn't alone, with a number of people who were wrapped in warm blankets and clothing, sleeping peacefully, or whom huddled together closely as if it was the only thing that kept them from tears. The doors closed and the bus started up again, the sound of the windshield wipers and the quiet rumble of the engine being the only sounds on the bus.
Curiosity soon burned at my mind in ways it hadn't in a very long time. Was everyone on this bus dead? Had they all died in different ways? Where were we all going–? A million different questions bubbled forth from somewhere within me and I couldn't help but break the uncanny silence that permeated the air.
“...May I ask… Where exactly is this?” I started, nervously fiddling about with my hands. As soon as I spoke the words aloud, I found that the same intuition from before had already answered the question in some dull and loose sense. Not as a direct answer, but as something abstract, like knowing the symbolism behind a full moon versus a new moon. I knew exactly what it was, but I couldn't quite get the words to flow through my mind in a way that made sense. The driver glanced back at me halfway, seeming to ponder my question as he tilted his head to one side and then the other.
“Well, well, as you know - and you do already know - you're quite dead aren't you? This place is what you might call “Purgatory”, or as I sometimes call it, “The space in-between”. You'll know when your stop is.” The driver said somewhat cryptically, his attention fully focused on the road once more. Not a single person on the bus stirred or gave any indication of caring about the disruption to the silence. The driver was correct - I already knew that I was dead, yes; although the confirmation only set it firmly in stone for me. A sigh passed by my lips, a vaguely somber feeling edging into my stomach once more.
“... My apologies for interrupting your work…” I began, feeling that familiar overly polite demeanor of mine kicking into gear. Just, without the undertones of self loathing and resentment to color it with insincerity. “I would guess… Everyone here is also dead then, yes? And you… you must be…?”
I trailed off, leaving the implication open. As for the driver, I already knew intuitively who he was, as well, but I would have to say without a doubt that for such a figure, he wasn't a very imposing type. He had a soft, round looking face and gentle brown eyes. Atop his head, he had a black colored hat of some sort on - it reminded me just a little bit of the hats a train conductor would wear. Beneath it, fluffy and soft looking brownish hair peeked out and curled at the nape of his neck. He wore formal clothing, but his overall demeanor was relaxed and soothing somehow.
There was silence for just a little bit, and then a soft laugh came from the driver. “You're not mistaken.” He said in a playful manner that held a certain undertone of empathy. Or perhaps it was sadness? I couldn't tell you precisely, in truth, but it wasn't difficult to tell that while he took pride in his job, he felt genuinely for the souls aboard his bus. He understood their pain and suffering in ways that I could scarcely begin to imagine.
“I am death in most concepts of the word. Not quite the one who strikes a soul from their body to reap it - there is no such entity as that, you see? No such entity quite assigned to the natural breakdown of organic matter into decay, and to rot and then once more to the Earth from whence all was borne. Except for mushrooms, maybe. That's another tale, however!” He laughed in a boisterous way, as if finding his own musings to be quite funny. I cocked my head to the side, not sure what to make of it in the slightest. Although the more I quietly thought about what he'd said, I could find a certain humor in it. It was funny.
People were terrified of death, terrified of the unknown and the inevitable aspects of death, of the decay and the rot and the eventual return to Earth, but for what? Was it so terrifying to not know what becomes of us? Perhaps it was my own morbid sense of humor that had me lost on it, but death was a curious thing to me at most points during my life. In the blink of an eye we're here, and then gone again. From the Earth and then consumed as a nutrient for it once more, feeding the decay and the rot which gives way to a new extant form of life. I couldn't say I minded the idea of becoming a mushroom. The thought was funny to me in its own way.
As did the thought that we all struggle and fight tooth and nail to live and thrive and be ahead of the game, when we're all going to be buried the same and devoured by worms nonetheless. An unbreakable cycle by which our flesh would erode and leave behind a husk of bone and marrow. Rich, old, young, poor, it didn't matter our sex or race or anything besides being of mortal form, we would all go to the grave the same. We would all take the same bus to wherever our destination was next.
And as for myself, I had made a mistake of putting myself into an early grave. All because I didn't see value in the places where I was worth more than all the gold and diamonds in the world. Of course, I didn't quite understand all of that immediately - but it was something that I slowly began to grasp while I sat on the bus, hands gently clasped together as I glanced outside and into the rain. Without the weight in my stomach and all of the emotions I'd forced myself to choke down like those pills that sat dissolving in my stomach, I could think clearly. I could think concisely about how funny life was. Little epiphanies that seemed to come one after another after another.
Then, finally, “... Do you know how everyone on this bus died?” I asked, a touch of shame entering my voice. I felt at once like a child who was about to be scolded for stealing a cookie from the cookie jar, but considerably worse so.
Death sent a quick glance my way and then nodded with an apologetic kind of smile. It was as if he didn't want me to feel, for even just one moment, like he despised me or felt badly about the choice I'd made that night. Where I think many others would look my way and judge my every movement, my every question I'd asked thus far, and even my feelings themselves, I never felt such from Death himself. Death hadn't taken any jabs at me, hadn't demeaned me for being too weak to live. Death looked upon me with sympathy as he knew, he knew the feelings weighing upon my heart and how difficult they were.
And I, as I knew so inherently from the intuitive senses I seemed to more properly embody in this state, was not alone. I had always felt so very, horribly, awfully alone in all of my sufferings at that time, but at this moment I was filled with the sense and knowing that I had never been truly alone. I had merely been unable to see that everyone around me, for as brightly as they smiled and hid their pain, were also suffering and feeling the depths of loneliness. Many like me, also could not see a way out of it alone, or felt that their worth was nil compared to those who carried themselves like proud kings and queens amongst commoners.
Death spoke up in a soft tone, one filled with a certain kindness that was unlike that of any normal person I'd ever known, surely. “Upon this bus are the elderly and the tired. The martyrs and the shunned. Those who have had their lives stolen, their bodies used in terrible ways. There are peacemakers and peace takers, rich and poor, every manner of which results quite the same. Whether you were Hitler himself or one who was victim of his genocide, the end will not differ. That which is flesh and bone returns all the same.”
That was quite a thought, and one which caused a certain bitter resentment to bubble up within me for reasons I understood quite plainly. Why should those who made others suffer be allowed to simply be at rest, at peace, when they caused such suffering upon another? Why should they be allowed any kindness at all? Why should anyone so utterly debased and foul be allowed redemption of any form? I felt this rage bubble within me for several silent moments, and then just as quickly snuff itself out into oblivion.
My personal resentment aside, I seemed to inherently pick up on the subtle reality of that, too. The feelings we all felt while we were alive, the actions we took individually and even against one another, while inexcusable in every context, were prone to likewise decay. In the endless expansion of life and death and the universe itself, it mattered on a human level as to prevent such atrocities from taking place again. It mattered on a level of remembering the lives lost to tragic events, as each life lived was an irreplaceable one that could never again be seen to the same degree. However, on a level of decay and entropy amidst an ever swirling expanse of universe, it was as insubstantial as a child shoving the end of a hose into a nest of ants and drowning them all. Did ants mourn their fallen sisters as we mourn those lost to war and famine and ultimately decay?
“... Do you suppose they regret what they've done in the end?” I asked, knowing at least the answer that was true to myself. For myself. Seeing the world with eyes wide open and clearer than ever before, I knew what I had done and that it ultimately wasn't only me who would suffer. It hadn't mattered in the moment when I was pushed over the edge, who I hurt or how badly. The only thing that mattered was me, in that moment, who couldn't stand to go forward another single day with the knot of dread in my stomach and knowing there was no feasible end in sight.
Death smiled and pulled the bus to the side of the road, the back doors opening. I was suddenly hit with the sense that it was time to go - a strange thing, since I had only been on the bus for what felt like a very short time. Maybe a half an hour at most. As I rose to leave, Death called out one final time. “Maybe you can tell me the answer to that one. I've wondered for a long time, myself.”
I laughed quietly to myself and said, “Regret or not, what's done is done. That's finality,” and left the bus, finding that outside was nothing but a starkly bright light that I felt should have burned my eyes. I went forward into it, ready to embrace what came next.
…
And well, I woke up in the hospital hooked up to God knows how many things, but I was… Alive. Alive… and not exactly well, but that was fine for the moment. I was alive.
The rest is for another story all together.