[He doesn't know if there's an afterlife. He'd like there to be, got taught in his life that there is one. It wouldn't even be the craziest thing anymore, now that he's met whole gods.
And maybe he doesn't die, because someone or something doesn't ever allow him to die, or maybe he doesn't because he's already dead so what happens when you die twice, y'know? Or maybe he does die, for a few seconds. It's hard to tell.
What he does know is that, whether it was an image of the afterlife, his life flashing before his eyes, or the last few firing neurons of his brain wildly hallucinating from lack of oxygen, he thinks he is home, warm, the smell of baked goods wafting in the air. There's a kid sitting on his knee, and teenagers on either side of him, and the most beautiful woman he's ever met is sitting across from him, arms outstretched across the table, her capable hands in his. The sun is bright, the windows are thrown open to let in the breeze, and everything is perfect.
Everything is perfect.
And then he's choking.
The scene is washed away by water, a flood of dark water, cold and cold and cold and burning. He's choking and drowning but someone's trying to drag him ashore. There's air, somewhere. He can feel it try to push through. And a pressure in his chest pushing the water out. He tries to cough, but it's more of a convulsion, water burning out of his lungs and bubbling out of his mouth. Tries to gasp, chokes, coughs, gags out more water. But he can feel it, the air trying to displace the rest, and he gasps and sputters and gags on it, desperate. He can barely see. But he's alive. He's alive. Why the fuck is he alive? A hand reaches out to grab hold of the form over him, grip strong in spite of the (near?) death experience.
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And maybe he doesn't die, because someone or something doesn't ever allow him to die, or maybe he doesn't because he's already dead so what happens when you die twice, y'know? Or maybe he does die, for a few seconds. It's hard to tell.
What he does know is that, whether it was an image of the afterlife, his life flashing before his eyes, or the last few firing neurons of his brain wildly hallucinating from lack of oxygen, he thinks he is home, warm, the smell of baked goods wafting in the air. There's a kid sitting on his knee, and teenagers on either side of him, and the most beautiful woman he's ever met is sitting across from him, arms outstretched across the table, her capable hands in his. The sun is bright, the windows are thrown open to let in the breeze, and everything is perfect.
Everything is perfect.
And then he's choking.
The scene is washed away by water, a flood of dark water, cold and cold and cold and burning. He's choking and drowning but someone's trying to drag him ashore. There's air, somewhere. He can feel it try to push through. And a pressure in his chest pushing the water out. He tries to cough, but it's more of a convulsion, water burning out of his lungs and bubbling out of his mouth. Tries to gasp, chokes, coughs, gags out more water. But he can feel it, the air trying to displace the rest, and he gasps and sputters and gags on it, desperate. He can barely see. But he's alive. He's alive. Why the fuck is he alive? A hand reaches out to grab hold of the form over him, grip strong in spite of the (near?) death experience.
Words are gonna have to wait a bit.]