Escaping the Non-Existent

"I will face my fear. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.” - Frank Herbert

I can feel my hair sticking to my shoulders like cobwebs freshly woven. Bits of debris cling to my face but I don’t have the energy to wipe them away. My knuckles crack as my hands grip tighter around the plank of wood. I want to open my eyes but I know there will only be darkness, and somehow it’s less frightening to keep them closed. At least that way I can imagine a different world.

            Any feeling I had from the waist down is gone. I know my legs are kicking, or shaking, but it means nothing to me; it feels too foreign to matter too much, almost like these limbs beneath me aren’t really mine at all.

            I try to pull myself up onto the plank but my arms are weak as spaghetti and I open my mouth, my lips cracking from dehydration, and yell, ‘Wilson!’

            As soon as the word escapes, I laugh. I can’t do anything but laugh. I’m going crazy. I’m Tom Hanks.

            There’s a sound in the distance but I can’t quite make out what it is. Perhaps it’s a helicopter come to my rescue, perhaps there’s a lifeboat bumping over the waves with a blanket and fresh water waiting for me. Maybe it’s a ship not realising I’m here and it drags me under, snapping my limbs, trapping me under its solid body as it tootles along on its merry way. That might be okay, if that happens. I might be better off.

            ‘Hello?’ I start to say words, not even realising the voice I hear is my own. ‘Hello.’

            A wave mounts its attack as water crashes against my face and fills my lungs. I start coughing, spasming, gasping, but I can’t catch my breath. I don’t know where I am. I open my eyes but see nothing. Maybe I’ve gone blind. My hands are no longer holding anything and then I realise; I’m underwater. I’m drowning. I’m breathing in water and killing myself slowly while I do it.

            Every inch of my body fights and somehow, from somewhere, my legs kick me to the surface and I burst out into the night air that embraces me like its own child. As the water laps around my shoulders, the waves pat my back and I’m spitting and spluttering as I slowly come back to life. I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive.

            ‘Not today,’ whispers life’s Grand Planner. ‘Not today.’

            No. Not today. Not tomorrow either. This isn’t the way I intend to enter the afterlife; while it may give me a good story to tell, I’m not about to let it be my last moment.

            I have newfound energy and the adrenaline makes me swim. My arms and legs are like propellers as I push myself along. My eyes are still shut; only because I want to swim towards the white sand, the swaying palm trees, and the cheery locals waving me to shore. I don’t want to swim towards the black hole.

            As I swim, I laugh. I bet the fish beneath my rugged body are joining in with their own happy songs, swimming in unison. It’s such a joyous moment I don’t want it to end. The octopus, with its eight arms, can play eight drums at once. The seahorse plays the flute. There’s a dolphin chirping in song. It’s a party and because I’m so happy, I don’t want to believe it can end.

            But it does. Because when I open my eyes, I’m lying still. And I feel no water. My body is dry and the sand beneath my limp and bare skin is coarse. I push myself onto my front and drag my hands through the warm grains just to be sure. I still feel like I’m floating, my body is confused, but I’m dry, I can feel my legs, and I’m alive. I roll back over and stare up at the sky. The stars blink at me as laughter rumbles through my body. I make crevices in the sand with my feet in case the sea decides to take me back. The octopus drums louder. The seahorse caresses my ears with soft and endearing notes. The dolphin cheers for my existence.

            I’ll have a tale to tell, but not in the afterlife. Not yet. I’m going to celebrate my present life first. And then I’ll tell my tale. I’ll watch the stars and the moon for now, I’ll close my hands around fistfuls of sand, I’ll bury my toes from sight, and then I’ll tell my tale.