1

In English

I was in this kind of... fluid. Dark and lightweight, but I could feel its pressure. I could hear a heavy hum far away and I could see a white light on the horizon. Slowly, I saw how the light was becoming bigger and the sound grew exponentially in intensity, plus getting higher in pitch. The liquid was becoming more dense equally and each time it was hotter. I wanted to believe the light and I were getting closer together but I could feel there was no motion in that place. There was no acceleration or friction by any means. I was simply being absorbed by this strange singularity, until suddenly it happened. As fast as a blink.

–Where am I?

I couldn't see anything, or I could see everything. The light surrounded me whole in a fraction of a second. I couldn't hear anything, or I could hear everything. It was a constant and stable whistle containing every frequency I could ever hear, from the lowest to highest ones. And it didn't stop. It never shut up. I felt more heat than what I have ever felt in my life, almost like if my skin –or what I thought was my skin– was burning constantly and I could not do anything about it. I felt needles nailed in each centimeter of what I thought was my body, and I felt every single one of what I thought were my bones, milled and fragile, abandon their position. The fluid that surrounded me now felt solid, it wasn't allowing me to do any move, and when trying to breathe, my diaphragm was unable to descend. I wanted to look at my hands but the light was blinding me and the inability to move didn't allow me. I felt fear, pain, sadness, impotence, but somehow I was peaceful. And then I understood.

–I'm dead –I thought.

–Yes. –I felt a voice, answering me–. You died. Welcome. –It wasn't a voice coming from somewhere, nor was it over nor beneath the irritating whistle I couldn't stop hearing, but it modulated it in a way it turned it into words I could understand. It wasn't a voice nor female nor male, but more powerful and fragile at the same time. It sounded like one, but its density and power was like hearing a crowd in unison.

–Who are you? –I asked.

–I'm you. Your consciousness and the consciousness of the universe. Your memory and the collective memory of everything that was alive and dead since the beginning. The wisdom and knowledge of everything that once existed.

–...and will exist?

–Nothing will ever exist. This is the end of existence.

I was terribly confused. Why would my personal death mean the end of everything? I only knew I had a lot of questions. What did they wanted to say when they said they were my own self? My whole life I believed death was absence. Absolute darkness, absolute silence, no dreams, no memories, no regards about being once alive, no emotions nor sensations, no opportunity to ever again wake up, and now I was finding myself in the paradoxical completely opposite situation.

–What is this I feel? Why is here so many light and this unbearable noise? Why am I feeling so many pain and sadness and torture? How can I be so calm under this much stress? Why do I feel pleasure if I'm so scared? –I asked.

–This is the culmination of everything sensible –the voice responded–. Here everything is eternal. You and I are suspended on an infinitesimal fraction of time without being able to move forward nor backwards. Right now you're feeling everything you potentially experienced during your life. All the pain and suffering, the sadness and hate. But also the joy and peace, the pleasure and love. You're infinitely saturated.

–This is worst than what I thought! This is unbearable! I would've preferred unconscious death!

–Infinities are difficult to understand and paradoxical for you understanding still human, but you already were dead that way. Your metabolic activity was null during years and millennia waiting this moment. You were aeons waiting to find yourself with me.