So this is what it's like to die.
It's not like you think it would be. When people think of nothing, it's not really nothing. It's dark, but the dark always has things moving in it. This is truly nothing, it's not dark, it's not light, it's nothing. No sound, not the beating of your heart, not the rushing of blood in your veins, nothing.
You begin to feel your self peel off in layers. The things that make you you. The first thing to start going is teh sense of where your body is. Your mind tries to hold on to the memory of having a shape, having arms and legs, but there isn't anything there anymore to separate you from the nothing. Then the memories start to drift away. You get a mental image of yourself breaking up, pieces of your existence floating away in slow motion, turning and tumbling into the void, and soon there is nothing left. Everything that was the you who was is gone.
There is only the light. Whether you move toward the light or whether the light moves toward you is debatable, but soon it surrounds you in warmth and intensity. Then it pours in like a rush: shapes of bright and dark, muffled sounds, texture like a thousand pinpricks.
"Doctor, I think I saw him move."
"Hmm? Perhaps. Let me have a look"
Shape. A head. Large. Bald. Glasses. Moustache. Light shining in my eyes.
"Pupils responsive. Looks like our Mister Doe may survive after all."
The head pulls back a bit. More shapes. Something uncomfortable is in my mouth, down my throat, in my nose. I start to cough. Flurry of activity, alarms beeping, scraping, swish of fabric. Things pulled from inside of me, pain as my internal organs realize themselves again.
"That's better. Can you hear me, Mister Doe? Blink your eyes if you can."
Words. Meaning forming like shapes out of the darkness. I have eyes. Blink. Eyes blink.
"Good, good. Marvelous progress. Nurse, if you would be so kind as to get our Mister Doe some water, I'm sure he's thirsty after such a prolonged absence, wouldn't you say so Mister Doe?"
"Wonderful. I'll be back in the morning to check on your progress. I know that you will have a lot of questions, and maybe you will be in good enough shape to get some answers. Toodle-oo."
The head-shape moved out of my field of vision, and was replaced with a different one. Nurse. Feeling of cold and wet, try to swallow. Small bits, droplets, but enough to awaken a fire in my throat, and I started to cough again.
"Easy, easy, not too much." Soft voice, caring. Honey-blonde hair. I knew that she was beautiful.
And I knew that she was going to die that night on her way home, hit by a drunk driver that would speed away unfeeling, unseeing, and run into a telephone pole some six blocks later crushing the steering wheel into his ribcage and forcing his lungs out through his open mouth.