Black Fiction Writers Forum Soul Play

Don�t believe the clich�s about dying. None of them were true for me. There was no picturesque slideshow of my life that flashed before me as my last breaths escaped. There was no bright light at the end of some long ominously dark tunnel.
What there was, by the grace of God, was a complete and utter calm after the storm. As soon as I let go of the gripping fear, a wave of realization flowed over me like a warm ray of slightly tingling vibration. It was like finally letting go of the vicious tug-of-war rope, but instead of falling ungracefully; a slow motioned float-fall movement buffered the fear. �I Never Dreamed You�d Leave in Summer�, one of my favorite Stevie Wonder songs, seemed to play somewhere outside my head. I love that song. I smiled inside. If I could have started singing along I would have, but I no longer had control of my physical movement. I noticed my eyes closing involuntarily. I realized then that I was happy in that moment. Happiness. It was unlike any that I had encountered on the many days that mysteriously precluded my death.
That�s when the separation started. Dying, similar to birthing, is a difficult process. When a baby first gets that gasp of unmitigated painful air to its new lungs, there is a shock to the system. Hence, the crying is inevitable. Accordingly, when my spirit started to detach itself, again, in another involuntarily motion, I found my body became a bit stubborn. However, I didn�t have lungs and there were no longer any breaths I needed to take. Instead, it seemed the contrary and solely important thing to do was to forget to breath and move. In my Psychology 101 class in college, I learned that this is called de-association. People who do this to themselves on earth can inflict dangerous harm to themselves, so not really fully understanding the idea of death, I scared myself quite thoroughly. I felt a disorientation ring around myself, and then, because I had no other smart alternative, I did what I thought was sleeping.
I was told later that this went on for about an hour. Then, suddenly, without �waking� and without warning, I rose. Pressure from fast air compressing me made me open my eyes, and I saw a flickering light. It reminded me of a kid playing with the light switch. I was also told that this was me simulating the contrast light that my imagination associated with leaving the earths� atmosphere. See, I didn�t really leave earth. I can�t tell you much about where I ended up, but it wasn�t as far from earth as I thought it would be. It is not a �place� in the sense of a noun, but more a plain. It isn�t in the sky or galaxy, or even in the universe. In fact, the universe, amazing as it is, looks very small from here. When I got here, I wasn�t sure there was a heaven or hell, or if this place actually fit into my definition of either or those. When I was alive, I had my vague ideas of what afterlife would be like, but so far, this was more real and tangible than I could have possibly imagined. It was not dreamlike at all.
I didn�t know how long I�d been lying on the couch, but I felt very good. Rejuvenated, actually. As I looked around, I realized I was in a blue room, lying on an old schlumpy, but comfortable blue couch. It didn�t smell so wonderful, but it felt great. I took this to be a good sign, as my favorite color is blue. I�ve always been a strong believer in the power of omens, good or bad. The rest of the room was bare, not a picture, or stick of furniture occupied it, and oddest of all, not even a door was present in this room. I dizzily rose to a sitting position with my legs folded Indian style underneath me. The decision to place my feet on the floor yielded a breathtaking view. The uncarpeted floor was actually a beautifully carved navy marble floor. I studied this curiously for a contemplative second, and then continued to cool my feet on its deliciously cold surface.
As I surveyed the medium-sized room, I observed the thickness and texture of the walls. They were paper thin. Actually, these borders couldn�t really be called walls. They appeared to be more like a huge-scale paper Mache project produced by a talented yet obviously large crew. There was nothing on them, but as I stared, I realized that these walls encompassed more shades of blue than I�d ever seen. It reminded me of the painter that they always used to feature on PBS who shows you how to blend colors when you�re painting a tree or the ocean. I was awestruck, and honestly, a tad bit dumbfounded. Only then, did I think to look up. There was no ceiling, just a huge blue tarp that looked as if it had been haphazardly slung over the rooms four walls. I was pondering who would take the effort to drape the tarp over such a large space as this, and how did they it. It must have taken a team of at least three or four people. I hadn�t started to worry yet, but how I would manage to exit the room did cross my mind. Standing on the couch wouldn�t place me anywhere near touching distance of the tarp.
Just then, I heard a loud rustling above my head. This tarp was either being moved by a strong wind, or being moved by some other force. Or someone, I reminded myself, swallowing hard. Finally looking up, I saw a small slice of sky exposed. In contrast to my blue haven below, the sky was a soft lavender hue. It was not unrealistic compared to the many dusky smog clouded mornings I�d spent in LA. It was just a bit brighter. Then I saw her. Piercing blue eyes peered back at me curiously.
�How are you doing down there?� a squeaky voice echoed down toward me.
What caused that echo? I wondered.
Don�t be scared, silly!� she managed to say through her persistent laughter. The fact that I had exhibited some apprehension tickled this little thing to death. She was in stitches now. Her pale cheeks were blushing hard from her extensive giggles.

�Hi�. I squeaked back. I was nervous. Too nervous to form an actual answer to her reasonable question. Weird. Why was I nervous?
About a quarter of the tarp was now pulled back. Amazingly, an adorable young girl jumped onto the marble floor from the makeshift ceiling. She landed in the space that was hidden from my view by the couch. I rushed around the couch thinking she had to be hurt from a jump that high. After all, that was about a ten foot drop. But she was crouched on her two feet with the hands she�d used to steady herself placed on the floor. As she looked up at my worried yet quizzed expression, she giggled. I took a sharp breath, a surprise squeal trapped in my throat.
�Um, I..ah..� I was trying to articulate a question, but by mind was absorbed with trying to pick the most important one out of the bunch that had already formed. As I was fumbling to get a grasp on this new overwhelming experience, still trying to compose my question, she slowly rose. She was startlingly tall for a small girl. Maybe 4�10� or even 4�11�. We were a mere three inches from eye to eye contact.
�I�m Lola,� she said, in a courtesy.
�Christine� I replied. �So�where exactly are we?� I finally managed.
�Well,� she said thoughtfully, �that depends on what you want to call it. You are definitely not on earth anymore, so that means you died. Do you believe in God?�
�Uh, well, sure�I mean most people do. Is that a test question?� I wondered aloud.
�No,� she continued smiling, �you�re already here. You can�t change that.�
This comment began to settle somewhere inside the pit of my stomach. So it was true. I was dead.