When I died it was no different from living. If anything, I died decades ago, only to be buried today.
I understand now that fear doesn't always scream. Sometimes it whispers and waits. It taught me how to measure my words, how to swallow them, how to pretend I didn't need to be seen. It sat beside me in bedrooms at night and followed me into crowded rooms.
I didn't want to love anything because I knew it would be taken from me. I had seen it happen enough times to believe it was a rule. No warning. No fairness. Just absence where something warm used to be. Something I couldn't stop. Something I couldn't change.
So I chose loneliness before I could lose control of it.
If I couldn't choose how I lived, what my purpose was, or when I'd die, I at least wanted to control how I would suffer.
It sounds stupid but it's true.
I numbed myself to family and friends. I let calls go unanswered. I smiled when I should have spoken. I convinced myself that everything was pointless, that meaning was a lie people told themselves to sleep at night. Repeating it made the quiet feel justified.
But I was blind to see that loving each other is a gift, and even if it hurt horribly to lose it, it hurt worse to not have it at all.
In the end.
All I wished is that I told my mom, dad, and brothers I loved them. I wished I told them when it wasn't necessary.
I wish the world had more stop signs and red lights so I would've gotten to be with them longer.
I would give anything to hug them goodbye one last time.
Error*
Request not feasible; Developing compromise
Result: *ONE MORE CHANCE*
"I'm sorry I can't give you your loved ones back," it said, its voice carrying a weight that felt practiced, careful, like an apology repeated across countless lives.
"Nor can I let you live again in the same world. But I can offer you a chance at redemption."As the angelic voice finished, I blinked.
The darkness peeled away like a closing wound, and I opened my eyes to a throne room carved entirely from white. Not a single shadow clung to its surface. The floor stretched endlessly beneath me, polished so smooth it reflected nothing, as if refusing to acknowledge my existence. Columns rose like frozen beams of light, tapering upward until they vanished into a ceiling I couldn't see.
Treasures lined the hall in silent excess. Crowns without jewels. Chalices without engravings. Blades without edge or stain.
Every artifact was flawless, colorless, and impossibly old, as though they were concepts of objects rather than objects themselves. Wealth stripped of desire. Glory stripped of memory.
The air was still. Not cold. Not warm. Simply absent of sensation, like the space between heartbeats.
"All I ask of you is that you serve yourself, do not live by others rules'. Do everything with a passion, whether it be to hate or love. Do not let yourself down the same path you walked before."
The voice was close now. Not echoing. Not distant. It spoke the way someone does when they already know your answer. Soft. Understanding. Welcoming.
I could see her clearly.
She sat upon the throne as if it were an extension of her body, a beautiful woman draped in layered white robes, each fold immaculate, each seam deliberate. The fabric shimmered faintly, not with light, but with intent. Her priestly attire bore no symbols, no scripture, no ornamentation, yet it felt heavier than any crown.
Her hair fell like spun silver over her shoulders, unmoving despite the airless hall. Her eyes were pale, almost colorless, reflecting not the room, but me. Not judgment. Not mercy. Recognition.
Behind her, the throne rose impossibly high, its back carved with indistinct shapes that shifted when I tried to focus on them. Wings. Chains. Hands. Or perhaps memories. I couldn't tell.
She leaned forward, just enough to make the distance between us feel intimate.
"Live."
The word pressed into me, not as a command, but as permission