Creative Corner showcases original creative work from UFV students.
Heaven and Hell… what extraordinary concepts.
I once believed in these places. It wasn’t until just now that I realized exactly what they mean. Now, when I have died.
If someone were to ask how one could know when they’ve died, I’d tell them about the feeling they get in the pit of their stomach, perhaps only a few times throughout life. It’s rare, but it’s strong; it leaves you without question.
There’s nothing but a surface of black, strong enough for me to exist on. I lift my body from its fetal position, still feeling the weight of my arms, legs, and a slight pounding in my head. Perhaps these feelings are memories, their former existence still clinging to whatever I am now.
There’s everything in the way that I still feel life as though it resides just behind a thin veil. My heart no longer beats, but I feel I could slice open my skin and find warm, rushing blood. The abyss around me is blinding, endless, and restricting. I hesitate to take a step for fear the darkness will crush me, consuming whatever existence I still have. Nevertheless, I take my first step, my foot proving the solid surface extends. As I walk, I have never been more aware of my body. The fluidity of my movements, how I progress in such silence. These are all things I never noticed in life. Floating in darkness, I’ve never been more grounded.
There’s a little girl, no older than 10. She appears suddenly before me like a beam in this dark abyss. She looks ghostly as she reaches to take my hand, but I’m not afraid. Her thick, brunette hair frames her circular, pale face in a way suggesting utter innocence. I feel her touch and am certain she feels mine. Neither of us are afraid as she guides me through this space; no path is needed.
We walk endlessly through the black, which suddenly seems almost crépuscule. I feel certain now that we are only in partial darkness, a state that will not last, a twilight zone. Before long, a mighty oak appears before us, as if created between blinks. Its pea green leaves stretch high, as though trying to reach the non-existent sun. The little girl leads me closer, and motions for me to touch it. I oblige without a thought and feel an indescribable thrill as I run my pale hand over the old, rough bark. Sage moss is scattered near the base of the trunk, and I kneel to caress its softness. I notice a small tire swing hanging from a sturdy branch around the back of the tree, and the child beckons me closer. As I near it I realize I’ve been here before — this was my old tire swing. This oak stood in my backyard as a child, and I want nothing more than to sit upon it and swing, reminiscing about my youth so long ago, but the little girl pulls me on. I know we must keep moving.
As we trudge along, I begin to think of my daughters, my husband. Feelings of homesickness grow heavy on my shoulders, and the fear I had of all-consuming darkness begins to creep back in, our surroundings no longer seeming so temporary. I suspect the child senses my distress, as I feel her hand shift in mine. Despite our hands remaining clasped for so long, they have not warmed. Ghosts are as cold as the bodies they leave behind.
Before me, a rushing river presents itself. I feel the icy spray dot my face and arms; it seems all I can feel now is cold. There’s a forest beyond the river that seems to stretch for miles. Spruce, pine, and fir, all packed together like blades of grass on a much larger scale. The girl leads me right to the edge of the cliff above the river, the frothy crests of the rapids below look like teeth. She gets so close her toes tilt over the edge, and I attempt to pull her back, but she is strong. Suddenly, I don’t trust her as much as I used to. Suddenly, I’m completely afraid. I know where we are, I know what she’s doing…
“D-don’t!” I manage to sputter. I wasn’t aware until now that I was capable of voice. A mischievous, ghoulish grin spreads across her once innocent face as she simultaneously yanks her hand from mine. I scream as I watch her tiny body plunge down the cliff, her face as white as the raging water below. I would’ve lost sight of her quickly if it weren’t for her eyes, her wide, black eyes, never leaving mine until they disappeared beneath the ravaging waves. As I lose sight of her I back away from the edge, gasping for air although not sure if I’m getting any, or need any. The tree line across the water becomes a green blur, and while the river continues to rage loudly, the silence beyond becomes louder. I should’ve jumped in and tried to save her, after all, I no longer have death to fear. But I did not save her; instead, I ran.
To Be Continued
