NDE

We were there at your birth. How small and frail you were, straddling from thy first moment that finest line betwixt the world of the living and the dead: how poetic. Behold thy pale red visage, this was your entrance to life, the beginning of thy end. Watch how you squirm; how cold it must have been in that contraption, how harsh to be surrounded by the incessant beeping and chittering of machines you were yet to understand. Perhaps thy solitude began there, stolen from the warm embrace of a mother, but alas, you were too weak even to breathe the air. What pity. We could only watch.

We were there when you came home for the first time, and we were there when you took your first steps. We were there, for your mother was there, and we watched her closely, but we watched you closely as well. How heavy thy first steps were, how fearless, balled firsts, lowered brows, such admiral angst from a toddler. Lo, here we found interest in you.

We were always present: behold, when your mother dropped you off on your first day of school. But you were often on your own, and such a lonely child could only find playmates in the mud. But fret not, for we were there. Oh, how we would have liked to be thy playmates, along with the dead bugs and lizards you found amongst the soil. It would not be long before you regarded all as playthings. A remarkable insight for such a young mind, and in that solitary yard were the seeds of thy heart sown; had the people rejected you, or had you rejected them?

We were there when your mother died, and during childbirth, too. A tragedy in every sense of the word. Yet we need not console you, for you had consoled yourself, as upon seeing her lift her hands to the ceiling, to reach and call from something yet unseen, you discovered a great mystery, and in great mystery, profound truth. Thus, thy thread be spun from this moment, and we watched, waiting for you to come of age that we might whisper in your ear and give breath to that flame. You were only fourteen.

We witnessed your father’s dread, his despondence. We were with him as well, for he needed consolation, and with each salty and burning tear, we should thus say, “Go fetch some beer,” for the sweet bliss of sobriety does not suffice the heart that hath been so thoroughly crushed. How cruel his fate, for a man of such weak constitution should not be subjected to such torment. But no matter, for he was of little interest to us, as his prospects were meek; recall how many nights you should encounter him awake but asleep, his pants wet and his mouth dry. He should have lived in this manner until he died; lo, it may have served his grief proficiently. But no, he found a priest and sought consolation from him, and not us, and what a calamity we feared, for we had seen this priestly heart. We knew that he was a liar, and how he might deceive not only your father, but you as well, and divert you from that path which might lead certainly to greatness and discovery.

We were happy then, when you came of age, and our dialogue began, and happier still that you heeded our advice and sought an education far from home. It was far better for you anyhow, for that dastardly priest had at least proved himself a failure, and thy fathers’ battle against intoxication had such a disastrous effect on thy heart and mind. He would sweat and shiver, then drink and curse; to reject our advice was, unfortunately, his undoing, and no child should suffer to watch the decay of the man who raised them. We hate to see one suffer at all. Why, we have always believed that each moment on earth should be but rapturous bliss. How saddened were we that your father should struggle so mightily in a world so full of pleasures. We were hopeful, however, that you might yet be rescued from this fate.

We saw your good work. You were capable enough, not as bright as your colleagues, this is for sure, but far, far more inspired. And we must applaud you for your discernment, for you could decipher our every wish, and so ready and eager were you to accept our wisdom that literature, arithmetic, anatomy, and the like had found fertile ground to grow where there were only rocks and dust. You had not excelled, but that mattered not; you needn’t, for it was not your intellect that had divined your fate, but your drive, that burning within you that so desperately yearned to know this very moment.

We were quite content you listened when we suggested you pursue medicine after completing your A.A., and again astounded by the keenness of thy ears, for you heard us even urge you to become a nurse, for any other endeavor would only delay the work of thy hands. So proficient were thy ears that we could have at once answered to you each mystery which should occupy thy heart, but how devious would it be to rob thee of thy fire? Nay, it was yours, and yours alone to extinguish.

We watched alongside you when your father died. Behold, yet another scene at the hospital. How at home would you feel at that place? But that priest, that damned deceitful man, was there too. BASTARD! We had wrestled with him day and night to save your father, but in the end, he was stolen from us! How disappointing it is that man may be so easily swayed by deception; we have nary seen a more gullible and thoughtless creature in the many eons we have walked the earth. Why, we have seen the heart of many, many beasts, and even swine knew thy condition better than that father of yours! What delusions captivated him so that truth, even one of play and pleasure, must be rejected. What a terribly difficult person to reason with. But alas, it was not too late for you. When you saw his arms reach for the sky, as you had once seen in your mother, you should again find wonder in this mystery, and we could almost hear you asking: “What happens in that liminal space between life and death? What do they see that they should reach for?” Fortunately for you, you had listened and would find yourself so near to the dearly departed that this thread would be all too easy to pull, and mystery all too easy to unravel.

We were so proud when you began your work, and we, too, were disappointed with the infrequency of death you observed. Nary once a month did you watch a person die, and whilst the murmurs of men facing judgement were instructive, how totally insufficient it was for your ailment. But you did not dismay, for we knew the remedy. You needed subjects. Thus, we offered instruction: “Enter room 151. Look upon thy patient and disconnect the tubing from their ventilator. Just a few minutes will suffice. Send them unto Sheol and let them tell their tales.”

What great instruction had you received! For you carried out our every request, and what was once only a monthly affair became weekly, and then, daily. How diligent and busy were thy hands, and how creative thy mind? Finding subjects in each ward and devising methods the likes of which have never been seen! A marvelous specimen you were. And how monumental your discoveries! You and we alike watched as many reached upwards and recounted tales of lost ones now found, visions of a life once lived, miraculous premonitions which no mortal person should thus utter.

Alas, had such lust not overtaken you, you might have put this mystery to words. But I’m afraid we failed you as well, for so lustful were we too, that we had not urged caution. Behold, one flame went out, by accident of course. Then another, and another, and another; it seemed a tragedy, and you lamented for a while, but if we may offer some consolation: what should it matter? Every flame shall flicker, the candlestick will melt, and that light will go out. The time and place of no interest, for a flame is measured by the heat and light it emits. Now, look upon this unfamiliar form and answer: of what use is a flame that doth yield neither heat nor light? Why, it is of no use at all. Thus, feel no ache when it goes out. The room shall be no darker, no colder than before, but if it may save for us more wax, we should be quite pleased. For brighter flames may now set themselves upon that very wax, even our own flame may be transferred, that we who burn most brightly may persist for longer. Why, how greatly we should thank thee, for how well doth thy own wax sustain us.

In any case, we watched as you were found out, and your deeds discovered. We were ashamed to see such a display of cowardice, and worse, even more remorse on your part, but then, perhaps we had not reared you well. In any case, we were with you. You listened to us, and you lied to the police, and then to the jury, and we knew, for we were there at your trial. How cruel the jury, that they should ask you to be put to death. How despicable the judge, who sentenced you to that very fate: death. A life cut so short: 25 years. But in any case, we were there, and we consoled you. We fed you fantasy during the day and night and covered your ears to each prayerful and prying word. And –

A voice, obscured, came over all of them: “Time of death, 6:47 PM.”

And I suppose that brings us to this very moment. But two minutes ago, you died: lethal injection. How grateful we are that you dared nary a glance and that damned priest, who should have pleaded with you and prayed for you but 10 minutes prior, for your ignorance of his deceitful ways at once brought you here.

Are you yet satisfied? The mystery which once befuddled you is answered; you have died. Tell me, what do thy hands reach for? Truth? Or Mystery? Can you tell the difference? Tell me, has your thirst been quenched? In these few minutes, you have seen a life, the one you lived. Is it what you had imagined? What you desired? Have you burned that threat to its end, or do you still seek answers? I suggest you ask now, for thy time in this passing place will soon end.

It was quiet for a short while.

“I only have one question. I expected to see my family, my loved ones, but I do not recognize you. You have been by my side my whole life, but I have never seen you. I’m afraid I don’t even know your name. Who are you?”

My name is Legion: for we are many.