What happens after death

It was 11:46am. You'd think the world would end at a more appropriate time, as the last rays of the sun touched the land at dusk or maybe when a full moon was high in the sky. But no, just before lunch it was. At least the end of the world wasn't the end for us.

It's quite a shame really, that in these last few moments, you don't find yourself enjoying the stereotypical Hollywood apocalypse activities. No sipping a refreshing beverage, reclined on a semi-comfortable seat, while you watch the sun collapse in on itself. None of that.

Instead, all you get to enjoy is the head-spinning, gut-wrenching sensation of falling to your impending doom. As you soar towards imminent and letal ground contact, you wonder why your life isn't flashing before your eyes. And suddenly, something halts your fall.

You take a moment to try and take stock of the situation. Not only were you certain you had reached terminal velocity already, but a sudden stop should have been no better than hitting the ground. You open your eyes only to realize you are still in mid-air. Did time stop for you?

"This can't be real." you say out loud. "How could it not be?" a voice answers. "You just had to open your mind enough to seen what is possible to do." "No this HAS to be a dream, or a hallucination or anything really? You know?" "It sure looks real to me." the voices answers.

"As real as the blinding darkness of the sun, as real as the spectres slipping between the shadows of consciousness. Accept it. Accept your new reality. Maybe then you can start to mould it." The voice rasps on as the scene around you warps and melts into a distant, awful memory.

A rising feeling of existential dread blooms in your chest as everything slowly drips away. Soon there is nothing. Tears streak your cheeks. You howl into the empty black; nothing comes. Time passes. Fear deforms into perplexed grief. How can you accept what you can't understand?

Your skin cracks, dry as forgotten papier mache. With each flake that scatters to the ground a wisp of empty air escapes into the noise, leaving you hollow and fragile. It takes days, or years, or seconds, but ultimately there is nothing left of you. Was there anything before?

You begin to wander, and soon, you begin to forget. What you looked like, what your name was, where you were from- all gone to the wind. All that you know is that you are trapped here.

As you keep on wandering, you see a light. A beautiful, singular light just through a corridor. You walk towards it, excited that you've found a way out.

You keep walking towards the light, the exit. But... it doesn't get any closer. You start to speed up your pace, slightly worried. Is the exit getting further away?

Squinting now at the pinprick of light now dwindling in size, your walking pace develops into a jog, and then a sprint. You need to get closer, you need to leave - but it's no use. The light flickers momentarily before vanishing entirely. You are left in a void of darkness.

... It's now been hours. Hours since your hope to exit this gloomy place dwindled before your eyes. You can't see anything. Your stomach rumbles. The floor is too hard to curl up and sleep, and you're cold. Suddenly, a call. It's coming from your left! You're not alone!

You muster the strength to stand and turn where you think the call came from. It's hard to tell, as it was but a single call in pitch blackness. Out of better options, you opt to investigate. You start tiptoeing your way forward, away from safe and familiar, and into the unknown.

You stop tiptoeing and take longer steps, and just keep going and going. The darkness doesn't seem to end but there, in a far far distance, you see an odd, purple light.

You continue towards the purple glow, footsteps seemingly vanishing into nothing when suddenly your legs start to follow them, swallowed by the very darkness which shifts imperceptibly around you. You're now falling, tumbling down into the light as it steadily grows and grows.

For an imperceptible amount of time, all you perceive is purple. You feel it in your skin. You smell lilacs and taste ripe plums. Your movement is constant; the odd sense of travelling through solid colour. It feels like being in a lift, your stomach being pushed into your chest.

Finally, you are freed, hands pushing through into fresh air followed by the rest of your being. The moon shines brightly onto your iridescent purple scales, the air cool. With one, and then two, beats of your powerful wings, you take into the night sky, born anew.