When he died, it was no different as to when he was alive.
He had never seen the bright of day, or felt the warmth of the sun, or tasted the sweetness of sugar. He was simply gone from this world almost as quickly as he had entered it.
Herman realized that his wife's still-birth several years ago had changed him. That, coupled with her sudden death as a result of cancer a year later, had tossed him into life's waiting room once again, browsing dating sites, working minimum wage, and waiting for another 'the one' to show-up and replace his deceased beloved.
He felt perpetually lost in the utter confusion and hectic linearism of life; wake-up, go to work, make just enough to survive for the day, return home, watch TV, and then go to sleep and repeat the cycle over and over again, only to break the cycle every Saturday, when he would get-up at noon and read for an hour before heading downtown to purchase groceries. He was beginning to question the logic of it all.
He felt jealousy whenever he passed a happy couple, and anguish whenever he passed someone holding a child, or statically pushing one along in a stroller next to him on the city boardwalk.
Death was the product of life. But if that was so, then what was the product of death?
For years he had struggled with such questions, attempting to use them in order to properly find himself. He still had yet to establish any real answer. All he had was wild speculation, and he wasn't one to buy into the 'definite' speculations of a church, or any religion for that matter.
It was a bitingly cold winter night as he returned to his home around 9 o'clock. He had got off early due to his working overtime most of the previous week. Unbearably tired, he immediately climbed into bed without switching the television on, and almost as immediately slipped away into the comforting enfolds of sleep.
Suddenly, it felt as if he had woken up, yet he could see nothing but the blurry, shapeless movement of numerous colors above his head, and an artificially high-pitched voice speaking to him in an affectionately patronizing tone.
"How's my little sweetheart? How is my little boy? Are you happy, baby? Are you comfy?"
He understood every word, but for some reason when he tried to ask Who are you? nothing but an indiscernible whine made it out of his vocal chords.
Suddenly, the shapeless blot of color lifted him from wherever it was he had been laying. Frightened, Herman tried to say 'Stop it! Put me down!' but instead, his eyes welled up with tears and he began to weep uncontrollably. As he did so, the shapeless blur held him closer and began humming 'shhhhh' into his left ear, and abruptly he felt calm and entirely safe, free from all the burdens of the world.
Stopping occasionally for breaths as Herman's wails began to subside, everything suddenly went black, and the white noise coming from the shapeless blur sounded as if it were fading. It felt like his lungs had suddenly collapsed, and an overwhelming dizziness overtook him as he attempted to gasp for a breath. He didn't panic when it didn't come, however. He simply closed his eyes as if falling asleep.
Herman woke-up in the middle of a desperate gasp for air, and quickly realized it had all simply been a dream. Curiously looking throughout the near pitch-black of his room, he peaked at his curtained window just in time to notice a cars headlights quickly slicing through the darkness, and then sliding away as quickly as it had appeared. Impulsively, he climbed out of bed, and without changing out of his pajamas, put on a pair of slippers and walked out into the freezing cold of the January air. As he let the cold uncomfortably caress his overly exposed skin, he shivered and crossed his hands as if embracing himself, yet continued forward in no particular direction.
The suburbs during the dead of night were unbearably silent. Only the occasional car ever appeared, and only the occasional person, who usually gave the impression of being some sort of burnt-out drug addict, ever appeared underneath the isolated beams of light luminously revealing small patches of the road in the overwhelming reality of the darkness.
The reality of the darkness. Never before had his thoughts put it so clearly.
Darkness was the base-point of all that was perceivable within the natural universe. Like an island, light stood as a recurring phenomenon within an endless ocean of black space, just as it was now, with the streetlights acting as the natural defiant against the overwhelming odds of the all-enveloping shadow of reality.
Returning to the dream he had had only a half-hour ago, he realized exactly what he had seen. He had been seeing through the eyes of his unnamed baby to which had died 15 minutes after childbirth, plummeting both his and his wife's overwhelming joy at that moment into a dark pit of panic and despair. He now realized the significance of the dream in relation to his thoughts; as he was seeing through his child's eyes, he could see nothing but indefinite colors and shapes. From nowhere, this baby's consciousness had sprung to life. From absolutely nowhere, his very existence had come into being.
But where was nowhere?
Within nothingness; a part of the overarching reality of the universe itself
: pitch darkness. And it was there that he returned only moments later. Everyone was destined to return from whence they came in space and time eventually, regardless of what saintly or satanic actions they undertook during their conscious allotment on Earth. Humans, he realized, spent too much time justifying both life and death, and in doing so, forgot the value of being something in a universe full of nothing but everything. To the human mind, anything and everything existed only so long as it was occurring, as well as being observed. This led to an inevitable question for Herman; when you died, was it you that ended? Or the universe?
Lost in his own head, he neglected to realize the semi truck that had failed to notice him as he was crossing the street.
He heard the vehicle as it slammed into his physical body, but seemingly from a distance. That was the last thing he would ever perceive. At first, he noticed the nothingness as it took him; but soon enough, his ability to notice became a part of it.
Before he had time to care, he faded into the infinite abyss of nowhere.
It was true; ignorance is bliss. Or was, anyways.
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