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 ;)


4. The Deceased

Angels. Angels are surrounding me. Yet, they do not look like angels at all. They are fashioned in ordinary clothes and look just as ordinary as you or I. What amuses me, is the fact that they are not wearing robes or white, nor are thick, feathery wings sprouting from their back. They look human.

I would have thought that they too are souls stolen by death, but I can feel that they are different. They are special. A light, humming aurora radiates from them, making my head vibrate vigorously. Their eyes are not blank and empty like ours; they are full of exploding fireworks and unknown colours. Overall, they have a normal appearance, but when you see past their masks, you notice a whole new image. They are as white as snow, pale in all aspects. The only colour about them is their eyes, magic and bursting with bright colours; they are like a blank canvas; the only colour about them is that spilt splotch of paint that is their eyes, multi-coloured irises and bright, speckled pupils.

They guide me with their kind, welcoming stares and I feel as though I am in a trance. Stumbling, they help me up with an invisible force that throbs like an electrical current.

“Come,” They indicate to a dead straight staircase, leading up into the vast sky that hides heaven from view. I precede, my red converses scraping the surface viciously. The clothes I am wearing are the clothes I wore when I died. I remember putting them on, a t-shirt, hoodie and jeans. Very fashionable, I know…but I was never really a typical Barbie girl. Thousands of stairs are still before me, and it is not long before I am panting, my weak body failing me. I stop. The angels mutter quietly, and I know they doubt my strength and my will power. I have never had much luck with that; I was the girl that was always picked last. Neglected, I was. My fellow pupils knew that I did not have the strength, or the effort to successfully participate in sporting activities, and this lead them to leave me out, damaging my courage each time.

“Keep on, Human,” The angels address me. “You, can make, it.” Their hissing whispers are similar to that of a dying snake’s but I mindlessly focus on other thoughts, my feet starting to edge forward again. I push myself with all the strength I could muster, and with a quick glance above, continue my tiring journey to heaven.

Eventually, we made it. Collapsing onto the clouded floor, I moan out in relief. My feet are killing me, crimpling up in pain. Angels hover over me, holding out their hands like they are warming them by a fire. The pain stops. My body is numb.

“Get up, please human.”

“Yes,” I stand, and it is now that I notice my audience. A long line of people are standing, gazing at me with greedy, but comforting eyes. “W-what…?” I stutter. I recognise these people. They all share similar features, from noses to hair colours, height to weight. But, most of all, I am one of these people. My eyes, nose, mouth, hair and height are all reflected in different ways, but the first thing I notice; the first person is my Grandmother, Judy. “G-grandma, is that you?” I ask, my voice faltering as she smiles at me.

“Talia!” She exclaims, lurching forward into my arms. I hug her, absorbing her strong perfume scent, her papery skin, and her warm smile. Yes. It is my Grandma Judy, my dead Grandma Judy. I take a step back.

“But, Grandma…?” I trail off, leaving the unsaid question hanging in the air. The angels are standing alongside these people, these…deceased relatives of mine. She nods.

“Yes, I am dead. But, so are you…my little Talia, dead…?” She bursts into tears and I attempt to sooth her, but she is having none of it. She runs off and I start to follow, but an arm sticks out in front of me, preventing me from getting past.

“NO!” I screech, flailing about and whacking any obstacles that get in my way.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Talia McIntyre; my little friend.” A deep voice comes from above. My head swings back and I find myself face to face with a grinning boy. Harry. I leap into his arms, taking in his childish features and musky smell. You would think that they don’t match, but Harry, Harry can pull off anything.

“Harry!” I gasp, looking up into his eyes. He beckons to suddenly appearing bench, and we sit down together. He would have been sixteen when he died, which makes him twenty-one now. I was nine when he died, confused and angry with the world. Why did he have to die? I sink down against his chest and we talk. And, for once, I feel like a little nine year old again, happy and reliant on another being. Harry is the best big brother there is; he died, for me. Diagnosed with cancer at the age of thirteen, he told me he would visit heaven and find out what it is really like, promising to slip away whilst I wasn’t looking. Morbid children we were, wishing to die. I guess the saying is true. You never know what you have until it’s gone.

I, being the naïve idiot I was, believed him. And, three years later, he kept his promise, giving into the serial killer that is cancer. I look up, a tear escaping from the corner of my eye. My parents have lost two children, two lives. It’s not fair. Life isn’t fair. I glance up at him and he looks back at me, smiling at my obliviousness.

My mind wanders over to my relatives, and I know that I want to meet them. We nod at each other and I slip into the crowd silently, still holding onto his hand. My relatives welcome me, and I relax with them, discussing life; the highlights and the burdens. I meet my ancestors, friends and family, all who have a story to tell, a life story. I could sit here forever, alongside my friends and family; alongside my death.

As time goes by, I am lead further into the crowd by the deceased. They seem to really enjoy talking to me, and they talk about a lot. I am asked about life, hobbies, friends, family. I linger on the last one, I miss Mum and Dad so bad, but at least I have Harry. With regret, I realise that the twins will probably never remember me, their tiny brain will forget my face and my smile, and they will not know me at all.

I sigh and carry on socialising, gripping Harry’s hand like I will never let go. And, at that point, I don’t think I will.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...