In the desolate expanse of the afterlife, a soul drifts in silent detachment. The abyss mirrors the void within, a reflection of the emptiness that defined his earthly existence. Death, it seems, offers little departure from the enigmatic monotony of life.
As he contemplates surrendering to a perpetual slumber, a distant radiance pierces the darkness. The emotionless soul hesitates briefly, then allows himself to be drawn toward the brilliant light. Its glow engulfs him, swallowing his existence whole.
Suddenly, he wakes up.
Confusion instantly sets in.
Did he survive the accident? How could that be possible? He clearly saw how that lump of metal puntured his chest. His lungs and heart had been completely destroyed. Only God himself could have saved him from such injuries.
And yet, here he was.
He takes a deep breath.
Yep, his lungs were still working fine. Not only that, he could very clearly feel the blood being pumped in his veins and arteries, following a rhythmic beat coming from his chest. His heart seemed to be working seamlessly as well.
He was shocked. Could God really have come down from Heaven to save him?
With some dificulty, he lifts his right arm. Even though it feels somewhat
Another thing he notices immediately is the lack of any sort of cast on his arm. After such a violent accident, he expected to have been transported to a hospital. And considering the terrible state of his body, he should have been completely immobilized. Given the damage to his entire bone structure, he should have been totally encased in casts to properly heal his fractures.
And yet, he sensed none of that. His arms, legs, hands—completely unrestrained. This, combined with the unmistakable absence of any tubes or machines tirelessly working to keep him alive, unequivocally signals that he is not in a hospital.
That didn't make any sense though. Despite the haziness in his memory, he vaguely recalls the truck driver urgently dialing 911 after the accident. Even if the driver abandoned him post-crash, someone was bound to discover his car eventually. In any conceivable universe, he should have ended up in a hospital bed.
And yet, here he was, in a place that was everything except a hospital.
His hand drifts past his chest, seeking the life-ending injury that is nowhere to be seen. It's as if it had been nothing more than a dream. Did the accident even happen at all? As crazy as it sounded, he was starting to suspect he had been delirious, imagining the whole thing. Perhaps the unyielding demands of work, coupled with extended overtime, had begun to wear away at his sanity.
That was the most logical conclusion. However, for some strange reason, he felt that wasn't the case. There was no real basis for his acertion, it was simply a hunch. It felt too real.
He looked at the ceiling.
It seemed like early morning, with some shy light rays timidly entering the cave, revealing its humble features. Stalactites hang like rough icicles, catching the faint light that seeps in. The subdued glow exposes the ordinary rocky surface, marked by crevices and the occasional moss-covered nook.
As he focuses more on his surroundings, another detail catches his attention. A dense scent of alcohol wafts through the air. However, it's clearly distinct from the sanitized and alcohol dense atmosphere of a hospital. This aroma is more raw, reminiscent of a local pub in the modest part of town on a friday night.
Surveying the scene, his eyes settled on a dwindled fireplace. The flames had surrendered, leaving behind charred remnants of wood as testimony to their existence. Atop the cooling embers sat a rudimentary cooking pot.
Upon closer inspection, unfamiliar herbs floated in a mysterious liquid. Scant remnants lingered in the pot, emitting a pungent alcohol stench that hung in the air.
'So that's where the smell is coming from.' he thought.
After this quick overview of his surroundings, he confirms that he was in some sort of cave. How exactly he ended up there eluded him, but he decided not to dwell on it too deeply. Common sense seemed to have been completely thrown out the window, and attempting to make sense of things would only give him a headache.
He took a deep breath and attempted to rise to his feet. Placing his left arm on the floor for support, he grimaced as a sharp pain immediately assaulted him.
He looks down. His left sleeve is torn. Disregarding the ridiculous clothes he seemed to be wearing for a moment, he examines his left arm. There, he could see a very rudimentary and poor atempt at bandaging. Upon closer inspection, he could feel a strong herbal smell coming from beneath the bandages.
It appears as though he had injured his left arm and attempted to mend the wound with the best of his abilities. The effectiveness of such a makeshift solution remains uncertain. It's the definition of crude—slapping random herbs on the injury and tightly bandaging it, hoping and praying the problem would resolve itself.
Remembering the fact that he had survived having a whole blown in his chest though, he decided not to worry too much about it. With God on his side, healing him from enough damage to kill an elephant, such a minor injury didn't scare him at all.
He tries to get up again. Learning from his mistakes, he uses his right arm as support. This time he is successful in his endeavor.
After getting up to his feet, he stretches himself, like a bear who had just woken up from 6 months of hibernation. His body felt, fine. Actually, fine was not the right word. He felt better than he had ever felt before. He was brimming with so much vitality and power that it left him baffled. Who would have thought that the secret for good health was getting into a car crash.
He looks down at his clothes. That is, if you could even call what he was wearing that. It looked as if he had taken the sheets from his bed, wrapped them around himself and called it a day. A, let's call it, unique sense of style for sure.
He had no recollection of ever purchasing such garments, and even if he did buy them, he would never actually go out with them. He would probably have been the butt of every joke if he ever showed up to work dressed like that.
What was going on? He had too many questions and very little answers. He felt powerless, presented with a reality he could not comprehened. This was especially bad for someone like him. Someone who was always in complete control of his life, down to the most minute of details. He had never felt this stumped before.
This situation was starting to leave him annoyed.
However, intertwined with the annoyance, there was something else gradually welling up inside him. His heart raced faster than usual, and his breath came out a bit ragged—a stark contrast from his typically pristine composure in his everyday life.
He had lived his life devoid of emotions, with every his every move being calculated maneuver based on his interpretation of a normal existence. Like a robot mimicking humanity, he navigated through life without ever encountering a situation he didn't know how to react to. And just like a robot, he braved life with a constant and unending void of purpose in his chest.
Always objective, he could act excited or angry when needed, seamlessly blending into societal expectations. Yet, for the first time in his life, he faced something new, something beyond his calculations. Genuine annoyance coursed through him. This was not how a normal life is supposed to go.
And yet, an unexpected excitement bubbled in his chest. What more surprises would this situation unveil? The clash between his rationality and the thrill of a break from his monotonous existence manifested in two opposing feelings, clashing over control inside of deep inside him.
Should he adhere to his calculated responses or immerse himself in the excitement he's feeling, just like he long hoped to? Should he maintain negative expectations to shield himself from potential heartache when this surprising event concludes and his boring life returns, or should he revel in the feeling he had sought throughout his entire life? The inner conflict tugged at the very core of his being.
While this battle of emotions was running wild inside of him, he decides to investigate the cave. Perhaps there would be some sort of clue that would allow him to better understand his situation.
He first heads to the most obvious place—the fireplace. As he stretches his hand to grab the pot, something unexpected happens.
An acute pain in his head, sharp enough to make it feel like his head is going to pop, comes unannounced.
Along with the pain comes a rush of information—memories, to be more precise. Memories from the life of a certain young man, from the day of his birth—a being destined to achieve great things—to his ultimate demise. A flood of memories flows into his mind, depicting the tragic tale of a man played by fate. It was as if he had that young man's whole life, feeling everything he felt. The good moments, the bad moments, the boring moments, the exciting moments. He experienced all of it.
The flow of information stops after a few seconds. With it pain disapears as well, vanishing as suddently as it appeared.
The young man stands there for a while, his face solemn and contemplative, trying to process the information he just got.
In contrast to the calm outside, within the young man, the inner clash of his 2 opposite states of mind reached its climax. The reason and objectivity, that had mostly held sway in the battle, were now being overwhelmed by the surging excitement. Wave after wave of exhilaration crashed against his rationality in an unrelenting tide. Eventually, his objectivity, the foundation that had guided him through his entire life like an unshakable pillar, gives way, succumbing to the engulfing sea of excitement.
Unbeknowst to him, a smile started creeping into his face. A truly pure smile, devoid of any acting or falsehood. For the first time in his life, Arthur felt truly happy. Like a child on the Christmas night, a fire of excitment was burning inside Arthur's heart. A flame so strong and bright, that it threatned to leave him and the whole world around him in ashes.