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Nobody could ever fathom, how cold death really is. It's not the kind of chill that most know to be associated with iciness. For, it is much, much different. Two things of complete contrasting nature. Death doesn't raise goosebumps — it is more of an infestation than anything. Something that takes you completely, leaving nothing for the prowling animals to eat, but an empty carcass. The consciousness is preserved in a freezing in-between. It feels as if you've been stripped of your outsides, left to rot, in depths unknown.
I am here, in said depths. Wandering as the only bits left of myself, in an unending void. It's dark and empty. This place, it's not what one would see, if they were to simply close their eyes. It's just nothingness. A gap in reality. The human mind couldn't even begin to explain because brains cannot grasp astral abstraction.
It's nothing yet everything, all at once. I could never become familiar with this place because it is ever-changing. Even though it isn't visible, I feel it. Sense every aspect of it.
But there's one thing here, which I know. A blurring of light, its edges reaching out into the darkness, as if to welcome me. It's light. It's everything I've been lacking, pulling my unshelled being closer, and closer. Until I'm fully immersed in it. And suddenly, I forget all about the void I've just left behind. I see nothing but energy, merging and folding together, to become one solid image.
A viewing. The kind of one that takes place inside of a chapel. Rows of wooden pews, filled with people dressed in black. Like the void, only, not. It's just fabric. Fabric worn by mourning souls, illuminated amongst low glowing lights. There's a cross nailed to the highest part of the frontal wall, hung as if it could bring solitude or peace, to anyone who entered the church. It doesn't. Not to me, at least. Because it only brings my attention to the casket placed below it. And, there's color. Hues and tones which turn into flowers placed accordingly upon the smoothed surface of a death bed.
