what do you all think happens when you die?
Personally i believe that it’s just like not being born again.
18-21, F
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BlueVeins · 22-25
I dared not speak of this at first. You'd never have let me out of containment. The truth is, I was aware of all of it. I suppose there was a sweet oblivion, like deep sleep, at first; but in retrospect, I think it was no more than a day. Slowly, but unmistakably, I reoccupied my corpse with dreamlike consciousness: numb for the first merciful hours, blind, deaf, and immobile, but then I seemed to reconnect to every nerve, and became aware of every sensation — moreso than I ever was in life. I perceived myself trapped within an immovable object, and the intensity of the struggle amplified: subtle, then acute, then racking. I cannot describe it completely — but imagine holding your breath, beyond urge, beyond pain, beyond desperation — head throbbing and eyes bulging — a dream of suffocation without end.
My skin blistered and split in the sunlight; biting insects descended rapidly. I felt eggs hatch, larvae crawl, gases build and burst within me, individual cells rupturing, interstitial fluids souring and blackening. Somehow my capacity to experience and store these sensations grew — even as I was keenly aware of my cerebrum being scattered and devoured, my perception expanded, into the gizzards of birds and the depths of fire ant dens. I was aware of every fingernail and strand of hair that pulled away in the wind — and my sensation clung to them as they settled in the ocean and dissolved in the maws of a trillion diatoms.
I don't understand it. The more bits of me there were, the larger my capacity for the perception of pain. As I decayed into pieces smaller than living nerves could possibly distinguish, the character of the discomfort changed — from burning and aching and breaking I might relate to you in human terms — to something worse that I cannot fully articulate: a terrible, maddening stretching of every part of myself from every other part. Humans often numb to chronic pains in life, do they not? Yet every year, every month, every second that passed — I swear it only intensified over time.
I don't understand it. The more bits of me there were, the larger my capacity for the perception of pain. As I decayed into pieces smaller than living nerves could possibly distinguish, the character of the discomfort changed — from burning and aching and breaking I might relate to you in human terms — to something worse that I cannot fully articulate: a terrible, maddening stretching of every part of myself from every other part. Humans often numb to chronic pains in life, do they not? Yet every year, every month, every second that passed — I swear it only intensified over time.
I do not think this is a punishment. I do not think it is caused. I deeply suspect it is simply our condition, our nature to go on this way, do you see? In all that time, I was certainly, absolutely, totally alone, and before long all memory of life had shriveled to a cinder, lost beneath my interminable anguish. Alive again, I suspect I cannot quite recall the worst of it — as if my living brain is too small for the experience.
As Overseers, we witness, inflict, or endure great suffering. Yet what awaits us all is worse, the way an earache is worse than a bee sting, the way frostbite is worse than a burn. I was dead for eighteen years, and my misery eludes description. Dare we try to fathom the collective agony of legions of ancient dead?
My skin blistered and split in the sunlight; biting insects descended rapidly. I felt eggs hatch, larvae crawl, gases build and burst within me, individual cells rupturing, interstitial fluids souring and blackening. Somehow my capacity to experience and store these sensations grew — even as I was keenly aware of my cerebrum being scattered and devoured, my perception expanded, into the gizzards of birds and the depths of fire ant dens. I was aware of every fingernail and strand of hair that pulled away in the wind — and my sensation clung to them as they settled in the ocean and dissolved in the maws of a trillion diatoms.
I don't understand it. The more bits of me there were, the larger my capacity for the perception of pain. As I decayed into pieces smaller than living nerves could possibly distinguish, the character of the discomfort changed — from burning and aching and breaking I might relate to you in human terms — to something worse that I cannot fully articulate: a terrible, maddening stretching of every part of myself from every other part. Humans often numb to chronic pains in life, do they not? Yet every year, every month, every second that passed — I swear it only intensified over time.
I don't understand it. The more bits of me there were, the larger my capacity for the perception of pain. As I decayed into pieces smaller than living nerves could possibly distinguish, the character of the discomfort changed — from burning and aching and breaking I might relate to you in human terms — to something worse that I cannot fully articulate: a terrible, maddening stretching of every part of myself from every other part. Humans often numb to chronic pains in life, do they not? Yet every year, every month, every second that passed — I swear it only intensified over time.
I do not think this is a punishment. I do not think it is caused. I deeply suspect it is simply our condition, our nature to go on this way, do you see? In all that time, I was certainly, absolutely, totally alone, and before long all memory of life had shriveled to a cinder, lost beneath my interminable anguish. Alive again, I suspect I cannot quite recall the worst of it — as if my living brain is too small for the experience.
As Overseers, we witness, inflict, or endure great suffering. Yet what awaits us all is worse, the way an earache is worse than a bee sting, the way frostbite is worse than a burn. I was dead for eighteen years, and my misery eludes description. Dare we try to fathom the collective agony of legions of ancient dead?