Is there life after death?
I wonder, even with the thought of heaven, is there life? I have prayed, I have clutched my cross, cried into my clasped hands, and attended the church blocks away from my orphanage. I've been a firm believer most of my life but the question begs to be answered.
What happens when my lungs collapse, my heart ceases its pounding? When my fingers go limp and my shoulders relax into the surface?
Do I see the white light? I've been plagued and persisted by the white train station and my senses would alert the fear instead if it was real. Will I reach to the sky and curl my palm around the very existence of the afterlife?
The unknown is very.. tormenting.
It's almost ridiculously pathetic that we, as humans, know nothing.
I sit in my classroom all day long and learn. But what am I learning? Am I learning the mysteries of the world? Grasping the understanding of the blurred line of life or death? Of black or white? Or simply, this or that?
I could stare at the lake in front of me and be terrified of the water filling my body to the top through my mouth, my nose, my ears. But how far can my body go? Despite the death? Will I keep drowning even when my heart gives out on me? Or will I truly walk the staircase to heaven?
The unknown, the basic human fear of pain, our world.
When will we say 'This is not enough'? When will we program our bodies to withstand the pain, to push through our nerves striking? In order to learn?
"We will never know unless we sacrifice the pain for the knowledge we truly crave," Tom told.
"Word?" I replied.
"Now you're thinking. Your thoughts are satisfyingly familiar. Tell me more," he urged.
Leaning back, the cold white ground welcomed my spine and shoulders. My legs swayed as they dangled off the side of the train tracks. My breath slowed and I stared at the open whiteness above me.
"Is there a chance- even a slim chance- this is real? This place?" I whispered.
His head popped into my vision and he peered down at me. The corner of his mouth tilted upward and a smirk adorn his stark handsome face. The bottom of his robes lightly bumped against my hair as he stood.
The white sky framed his head and he crossed his arms in front of him. Our eyes made contact and a chill ran down my spine, reminding me that despite the familiarity and comfortable atmosphere between us, he is still dangerous.
"Anything can be real. There could be other worlds on our earth. Other dimensions, universes, you never know. Not even when you die," he responded.
"Do you think I'll be reborn when I die? Or will I just stop existing? Maybe enter a parallel universe and continue dying in the way I did in this one?" I questioned.
He furrowed his brows, showing that he really was thinking about it. He lowered himself, coming down into a squatting position and the distance between our heads closed in. He still kept the proper distance needed.
A vague scent of Ralph Lauren Polo cologne wafted. Ideally, not something I would think a serial killer used. Nevertheless, even the worst of the worst still have preferences.
"I don't know. Like you said, we don't really know much. Just need to hope for the best.."
"Hope for the best?"
He chuckled, his eyes closing momentarily. Tom gazed down at me. The fabric of his clothes ruffled as he unraveled his arms. His hand fell down to my face.
His freezing finger lightly touched my cheek. He grazed my skin and the fear came back. My breath caught in my throat and my body wouldn't move.
He grinned largely and his lids fluttered with a sociopathic endearment glaze over his irises. My mouth parted and the actual terror ran through my veins.
"That you don't repeatedly die at my hands," he whispered.
Tom retracted his hand and I regained my composure again. I'm still scared. I'm so fucking scared. But I have to let it go. If I have to survive this, I have to push it away.
"How are you going to do it? Kill me?" I shakily asked.
He fell back and crossed his legs. His knees pressed barely on my head and he reached to my hair that laid sprawled on the ground.
He hummed a little in mock wondering. My hair got tugged lightly and he played with it. His fingers ran through the ends and he combed out some knots.
"Should I keep it a secret? I'm not sure," he spoke to himself.
He pulled a strand straight up and I saw him straightening it out. He quietly murmured, "Look."
I glanced up and the end slowly transformed to black. The black color climbed through my hair strands and it traveled in the direction to my scalp. Like a stream to a dam, it created the power move to break the wall. The rest of my blonde hair filled with the same color as his.
"Much better. I like your hair black," he muttered in admiration.
"Why?"
"Because you look more like me. Almost like you're my little sister," he explained.
He laughed a bit and I willed myself not to shudder in horror. He curled my hair around his fingers and he ceased his laughter after a while.
"Will you ever tell me?" I reminded.
"If I want to ruin the surprise, then I'll tell you. Just let the different ways I can kill you pass through your mind. I like to see you scared of the quite inevitable but waiting death I'll give you," he answered.
"Are you that pleased?" I asked.
"Why, of course I am, little sister. You're such a gentle thing and seeing you torment yourself about the unknown, maybe violent death, is funny," he replied.
"You could kill your own sister? Isn't that a bit inhumane?" I questioned.
"Heh.. it's not inhumane if you're not my real sister. But even if you were, it wouldn't stop me."
"You're sick," I spat.
"I was waiting for you to break your curious act. Go on now, join your friends again."
-lana
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