I float through space. At least I think it’s space. It’s a dark, empty void completely free of light, air and sound. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here or even if I’m here at all. I could be dead, for all I know. But then, surely, I wouldn’t be aware of my existence, I’d just be dead.
I was brought up to be a spiritual sort of person but deep down I always figured it to be complete nonsense. There couldn’t be such a thing as an afterlife. There was nothing whatsoever rational to suggest that there was some sort of alternate dimension between what we knew as “existence” and total oblivion. You were alive, or you were dead. It was as simple as that.
Except now I’m not so sure. I certainly can’t feel my body or anything in the world, but I sure can feel my… what? Soul? Self?
Perhaps I’m just asleep. Dreaming. That would be a rational explanation for all this. Perhaps in all the chaos which ensued when “it” happened, I knocked my head and fell unconscious. Given what was going on, though, I’d be absolutely astonished if I turned out to be alive. I remember things collapsing, clouds of dust, screams of terror suddenly cut short in a manner that was somehow more horrific than if they’d continued.
And so much noise. That constant low rumbling as the very ground shook beneath us. The roars of rage and fury. No-one knew where the anger was coming from, but we sure as hell knew that it was going to be the end of us. The devastation had spread gradually, starting with a small village in the middle of nowhere and gradually spreading until it had engulfed everywhere we knew and once held dear. Lush green grass became brittle and brown, precisely-designed buildings came tumbling down, freshly-paved streets cracked and broke.
At the end of it all, nothing but the wasteland. Our glorious country — possibly even the world — utterly destroyed. And for what? There was still no easy answer.
Suddenly, I’m aware of a faint green light from out of the corner of my field of vision — I hesitate to say “eyes” because I’m not sure I have them. I turn to face it and it approaches rapidly — or perhaps I float towards it. Before long, I am engulfed in the light. It feels warm, and pure, and soft, and filled with love. The feelings it invokes in me are indescribably joyful.
Images flash before my eyes. Split-second views of the day “it” happened. Faces of loved ones, now probably lost. One image lingers slightly longer than the others — it’s him. I miss him so much. I try to call out, but no sound comes out in the void, but I sense the light understands what I’m trying to do, so I don’t feel I have to try it again.
The light brightens for a moment, dazzling me with its intensity, then fades to nothingness. I am back in the darkness. But something is different. There’s… a sound. And a feeling. A cold, hard feeling. On my… face?
I open my eyes, for now I have them. In front of my face is a solid, smooth, cold surface. I raise my head a little and look up. I’m lying on a stone floor outside a small, ruined building. It looks familiar somehow, but it takes a moment for me to realise why.
Of course. It’s the house where we used to play together as children, and onward grew up until young adults. The house where we confessed our true feelings to one another, shared our first kiss, and were first intimate with one another. The house in which I lived until my parents died, and I was forced to go out into the world and make it on my own.
It has been many years since I have seen this house, and something had not been kind to it. I don’t know if it was age or the destruction wrought by “it”, but to see my memories laid out before me, a crumbling ruin, is profoundly moving.
I push off the ground with my hands and get unsteadily to my feet. I feel the gentle breeze of the day over my whole body, and I suddenly realise I am nude. Instinctively covering myself as best as I can with my arms and hands, I frantically look around for something to wear and anyone who might be looking, but find neither. All is eerily quiet. The horrific sounds of the devastation had ceased. Was it over?
I look back at the house and frown. If I look at it at the right angle, it almost looked like…
There’s a giggling sound. My eyes widen as a girl skips out into the garden. She seems oblivious to my presence. It doesn’t take me long to recognise her.
It’s me. Me aged about seven years old, to be precise. I was so carefree back then and never had any idea of the awful future in store for me.
From around the corner comes my mother. She gestures to seven year old me and says something to her that I can’t quite hear. The two of them go inside the house.
I gasp. Before my eyes, the house is whole again. Tentatively walking towards it, I reach out and touch the aged stones of the wall, and they’re real. I walk around to the back of the house, where young me and my mother disappeared, and sure enough, there is the door.
I put my hand on the handle and hesitate for a moment. While for a few moments, the atmosphere had been filled with life thanks to the incessant giggling of young me, now there’s a chilling sense of emptiness. I know that my young self and my mother couldn’t possibly be here, that it must have been some sort of hallucination, but it still saddens me a little — and that doesn’t explain the house, which had been an uninhabitable ruin just minutes before.
I push down on the handle. The door is unlocked, and creaks in that old, familiar way as I open it and step into my childhood home for the first time in over twenty years.
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