Death and Afterlife

What happens after Death? Everybody wants to know, but no one wants to die to try and find out! So this remains a million dollar question. Here's what we like to imagine happens after Death, so enjoy this figment of our imagination ;)


2. Memories

A long winding path, heading in no particular direction, stands before me. I am in the world between life and death, the world where there is no time, the world where the only existence is death itself. I start to walk, confused and scared. My mind is blank; I am unable to remember anything from the past. The only thing I see is the present. Looking around, I realise that I am surrounded by nothing; the only thing here is me and this path.

A sudden burst of colour invades my vision and I find myself slipping into a subconscious dream, my body is still present, but my mind is dreaming.

I can see a hospital, blurred around the edges, but indubitably a hospital. A couple are leaning over a silent baby, tears of joy in their eyes. It’s only when they look up, that I realise who they are. Mum and Dad are leaning, over me.

“She is such a beauty. Look at her Jack, just look at her.” My Mother boasts, hugging me tightly to her chest.

“I know, Amelia, I know. But, what shall we call her?” My father inquires; obviously the excitement of being a Dad has rubbed off him, whereas my Mother is still undoubtedly a blubbering wreak. As emotional as this memory is, I can’t help but cringe at my shrivelled up face and purple fingers. I was hideous. How on earth did my Mother think I was a ‘beauty’?

“Talia. I like Talia.” Finally. My Mother seems to have calmed down.

“She looks just like a Talia,” My Father starts, “Talia it is.” He smiles, indicating for me to be passed to him. My Mother hesitates before placing myself in his arms, her worried expression transforming instantly as she gazes in my Fathers eyes. “I love you Amelia.” He whispers, slowly leaning in to my Mothers face. They kiss over me and she whispers back.

“I love you too.”

The memory explodes, billions of colourful shards falling onto the path. Immediately, another memory clouds my vision, and I find myself gazing into the eyes of a six-year-old me.

“Mum!” I screeched. God, how did they put up with me? I was so loud! “Come here Mum! Look at what I can do!” A younger version of my Mother rushed over to the young me.

“What is it, honey?” She asked.

“Look! Look!” I screamed up at her, running up the pavement and hopping onto a pink, childish bike. Wobbling, my feet find the pedals and I pushed down, the bike shooting forwards. I kept on going absolutely fine for about ten seconds, and then I fell off.

“Mummy!” I cried, tears streaming down my face. “I have a baby cut!” Pointing down at my leg, I started to bite my lip, still crying.

“Oh, baby! Don’t cry.” She comforted me, “It’s all going to be alright. Shush, shush…” She quietens me and I stick a mud-covered thumb into my mouth, hugging her desperately.

The memory shatters dramatically, replaced with a new one.

This time, I am about eleven and it is my first day of secondary school.

“Please, will all new students form an orderly line?” Mr Jenkins bellows. He never liked me, but then, he never really liked anyone. I bet you he is glad I am gone; lost in this indescribable world.

I am there; tucked away in a large crowd of unruly children. My hair had just been cut, chopped short to about shoulder-length, I have a buck-toothed grin and am sporting a bright yellow backpack. No wonder people thought I was weird; I looked like a mix between Bugs Bunny and a rainbow.

The teachers pushed us into a dodgy line and lead us through the double-doors, into our new school.

The scene transforms into another.

Sasha and I are sitting at a table in the cafeteria. At least then I had a decent taste. We must have been about fourteen and are eagerly whispering to each other. I remember this.

We are talking about Alex, the super-hot hunk that happens to actually have known both of our names. Our hushed conversation boasts of the fact that Alex had just told Sasha that he ‘liked’ her. What idiots we were; wasting our precious time talking about boys. We could have been doing something productive with our time. You don’t realise how precious every second of your time is, until there is no time left at all.

The memory bursts and I sigh. Why did I waste my time?

The last memory comes crashing into my mind with a force so strong, that I thought I had been knocked out.

It all happened so quickly.

One minute I was alive, the next I wasn’t.

 It was a typical Monday morning, I was late for school, dad was out and Mum had to single-handedly get the twins ready.

A loud pop indicated that my breakfast was ready. Struggling with my school bag, I had grabbed the toast, buttered it and hurried out the door, pecking my surprised mother on the cheek as I went. No one would have expected that that would be the last time they would see me. I was still struggling with my uniform and belongings as I rushed down the road, toast poking out from between my lips. The fattening taste of butter was still lingering on my tongue as I swallowed the crispy crusts. My watch shouted at me, ten minutes past eight; great. I was supposed to be at school in exactly five minutes and I wasn’t even halfway there yet. My brisk walk increased into a stumbling run, chasing the pedestrians down the road. Throwing me disapproving glares, the people had jumped out of my way, cursing under their breath. Cars whizzed down the road like hurricanes. It was as though everything was going out of their way to aggravate me and turn this day into a nightmare.

Eventually, the traffic dispersed and I rushed across the road. I didn’t see the car coming. It crashed into me, crumpling my body like it was a piece of rubbish. It all happened so fast; I just wish I could reverse time.

The memory slowly fades and that’s when I realise.

I am dead.

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