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Nothingness.
That’s the only way to describe what was around him: pure nothingness. No light, no darkness, no anything. He could feel his body; feel the wounds that had killed him, though surprisingly they didn’t hurt. When he looked, he saw only one thing.
Nothingness.
He knew he was dead. Who wouldn’t be, after being shot five times? Twice to the heart, once to the gut, once in the shoulder, and a slug right into his left eye. The first two had killed him, the rest were for good measure. He couldn’t even remember why he had been shot. Nor did he care. He didn’t care about anything then, floating in nothingness.
Then a chill went down his unseen spine. Was he to float here in this nothingness for all eternity? He’d much rather the eternal torture promised of hell. Floating in nothingness for all eternity! Surely it would drive him mad, insane! Or was he already insane? Perhaps he’d been floating there for centuries already, driven between sanity and insanity and then back again?
How long had he been there? It felt like mere minutes, but could be hours. Or seconds. How does one go about measuring the pass of time when they’re floating in absolute nothingness? There was no sun in the sky, nor a moon or stars–there wasn’t even a sky! He had been wearing a watch, could feel it on his wrist, but could not see the watch or the wrist.
Why did he care? Knowing how much time was passing would just lead him quicker into insanity. But then again, he would drift into insanity anyway, if only from absolute boredom. He was already finding this rather remedial. Counting... that might help.
1... 2... 3...
“... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10! Ready or not, here I come!”
The little boy looked up from the wall and around the playground. It was completely deserted, there was no one there. Everyone was hiding, he knew, but it still felt extremely lonely. He suddenly felt a longing for his mom, but quickly dismissed that feeling. He was nine now, he couldn’t go crying to mommy every time he felt like it.
No, he needed to find the other kids. Then he could find relief from this loneliness. Find his friends, then it would be his turn to hide, to find himself an escape from the world until it found him, curled up under a bush or under a picnic table.
The dirt crackled under his sneakers as he wandered around the playground. There weren’t that many hiding spots here, mostly on the jungle gym, but from what he could see there was no one there. No one under the picnic table or behind the see-saws either.
There was, however, a sneaker on the ground. It was right by the chain-link fence that caged the kids into the playground. Right by the only escape from that cage, a worn rut that went under the fence. This told him someone had gone through in a hurry, so someone was hiding in the little thicket of trees behind the playground.
He was a wiry kid, so snaking under the fence was an easy feat. On the other side, outside the trappings of the playground, the world seemed to change. What was once raked and tended dirt and grass was now a growth of wild grass and flowers that grew up to his knees. He was glad he was wearing jeans as he walked on, seeing many plants with thorns growing in small bushes randomly.
There was a trail beaten into the grass, and he saw many broken beer bottles littering the ground around a rock. He continued into the trees, watching the houses on either side of the field disappear into the greenery. It suddenly became darker and he felt a chill go down his spine.
The bushes beside him rustled, and he turned quickly to face them, expecting to see one of the other kids, ready to shout their name as he caught them. But there was no one there. He hesitated a moment, then took a few steps into the bush, parting a few branches. It was dark, so he leaned in to see what had made it rustle. Maybe one of his friends was lying on their stomachs, hoping he wouldn’t see them in the shade.
Something hissed at him from the brush and he stumbled back. His heels caught in a root and he fell over backwards, catching himself on his elbows but skinning them at the same time. He let out a cry, but fear of whatever had hissed was more prominent and he scrambled back, his hand landing on a piece of shattered glass and drawing even more blood.
He caught a glimpse of a cat dart out the brush, running off into the field and disappearing into the tall glass. Frustration took over then and he got to his feet, ignoring the pain in his hand as the blood flowed freely and chasing the cat off.
His feet pounded against the dirt through the field as he ran in the direction he had seen the cat run. He had no idea where he was going, running on the assumption that there would always be some ground under his feet to support him as they pounded. He knew he needed to go home, or somewhere, to get his hand bandaged; it was a rather deep cut and it hurt so much there were tears in his eyes, but he was stubborn, and that cat had made him mad.
Then his feet caught nothing.
There was a rut in the ground, a tire track or something, but it caused him to fall forward. His hands shot out to catch himself, landing with his weight on his injured hand. Pain shot through him, causing the tears in his eyes to start streaming and he cried out.
His blurry vision settled on something. He sniffed and wiped his eyes in his sleeve, blinking and looking. There, sitting on the ground, was a pebble –or at least something about the size of a pebble. His first impression of it was a sapphire, one of those pretty blue gems his mom wore on her necklace. It was not quite as transparent, though, with little glistening bits inside.
With his good hand, he reached forward. The small stone suddenly seemed much farther away than it originally had appeared, as his vision tunnelled, but his arm stretched forward still. His hand hovered over it for a moment, before closing around the stone. It felt warm to his touch, and then he was gone.
Back to nothingness.
Had that been a dream? A memory? Was it real? He wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t sure of anything there. He couldn’t remember his name, his birthday, his face, nothing. But that scene, it had seemed so familiar. Perhaps it had been a memory? Maybe that had been him... maybe that’s why he was floating there now. Perhaps he had grasped the stone and woken up in the nothingness.
No... that couldn’t be it. He didn’t remember his birthday, nor his age, but he knew he had been older than the boy in that... vision? It had seemed so vivid. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed clear. That was somehow linked to why he was there now. Why he had been shot five times.
But that was not it. There had to be more. Would there be more visions? Would he see everything? Would he see his own death? If it was as vivid as that vision had been, as lucid, he feared the pain. Some distant part of him recalled the initial pain, how great it had been, before he had died.
Before he had come here. Here to the nothingness.