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  • Writer's pictureEva Nel Brettrager

They told me you were dead.

My eyes fluttered open. I couldn’t orient myself. All I could see were shapes and colors, and the vibrating air. But I just didn’t know what was up or down. I squeezed my eyes shut. I vaguely remember the blackness. The still. The… nothingness.

The peace.

My eyes fluttered open again. All I could do was let out the most ear shattering scream imaginable. Once I finished, the picture in front of me snapped into focus. My vision became clear again.

It was you.

You were the first thing I saw. I smelled. I… feared.

Where did my silent angels go? Where were my weightless saviors? I had the rest of eternity with them. In them. BEING them. And instead-

“They told me you were dead.” you said.

My eyes snapped hard, locking with yours. My torso bolted upright, clanging my consciousness back into my body. I recoiled, and screamed in agony. My mind was too overwhelmed.

“I’m gonna be sick. I am going to throw up. Fuck I think I’m gunna shit myself.” I stammered.

I rolled over into myself, head spinning, mind reeling. Reality was starting to set in. I had touched freedom, without touching it. I had felt the sweet satisfaction- heard the knowledge. I understood what it meant to be alive.

Because I wasn’t.

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