Life was never something I took seriously, something to be truly enjoyed. It was always left to the whims of circumstance, driven by inertia. Although I never valued life as I should have and had no qualms about the idea of dying, I never imagined that death would come to me in such a horrifying way.

These were my final thoughts before succumbing to my injuries and, at last, passing away.

After returning from an exhausting day, all I could think about was the comfort of my chair and the pleasure of playing my favorite game — a racing simulator, my hobby and stress relief during the last few months. Ironically, this daily joy was cruelly taken from me in a car accident. I was crushed between two trucks and impaled by parts of the twisted metal frame that speared into me.

In life, we all wonder, at least once, how our last breath will feel or what happens after death. No one has the answer to those questions, after all; no one has died and come back to tell us what lies on the other side. So we're left with speculation. Different worldviews try to answer this mystery, or at least to comfort those who stay behind. Atheists say there's nothing after death, that existence simply ends, and everything you were dissolves into the river of time. As cruel as it may sound for life to just vanish, that idea seems better than an eternity suffering in some fiery realm of brimstone and endless pain.

Other religions, however, believe in a higher plane, a place of eternal peace where a deity would grant all your desires, or, as in some beliefs, in the possibility of reincarnation. In my case, however, it seemed I was condemned to wander in the shadows, between life and death. A place I assumed was some dimension for the dead, where suffering echoed through every moment.

Years passed in this desolate space as I lived through a deeply distressing experience. Without sight, hearing, smell, or any other sense, I was left only with a faint sensation of light brushing against what I assumed was my body. I felt like a floating sphere, without muscles, without movement, as if being pulled along an invisible path by gravity itself.

In this state, my thoughts were my only companion. They became the last anchor to what was left of me, and reflection soon became my routine. I struggled to accept my death, often envisioning scenarios where I escaped this nightmare and woke up safely in my bed.

But over time, those thoughts became unbearable. I abandoned such hopes and began to accept my new reality. With that acceptance, I felt a shift within me and began to revisit the past, analyzing my life and my choices. I wandered through memories of what I would do if life were returned to me and how my life had been marred by dissatisfaction. Bitterness filled my mind as I realized that I'd never found fulfillment in anything.

Powerless to change my situation, sadness and despair crept over me like a storm I couldn't avoid, deepening my suffering. But, slowly, I began to embrace a stoic acceptance of my fate.

As time passed, I found that my imagination was the only way to escape this purgatory. I recalled books, movies, games, and shows that had once marked my former life, and to my surprise, I remembered every detail with remarkable accuracy, something I attributed to my new "body." However, some personal details, like my identity and memories of people close to me — my family — began to fade. In a way, this made it easier to adapt to my new reality, to let go of the past.

Then, the light that had vaguely guided me disappeared, and I felt my surroundings tightening, as if I were trapped. For the first time in ages, I heard sounds again. I couldn't make them out, but I recognized them as voices. After such long isolation, hearing something so close to human speech felt almost mystical.

Instinctively, I knew that it was only a matter of time before my other senses returned. Shortly afterward, I felt my consciousness begin to fade. This cycle of awakening and fading repeated countless times; I would awaken, stay aware for a few moments, and then drift back into unconsciousness.

After several cycles, I managed to remain conscious for a longer period, and a curious thought crossed my mind: Had I been reborn? The idea was so captivating that I couldn't stop exploring it, and the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. I kept feeding these thoughts, building scenarios and explanations, until I concluded that my previous experience, in sensory deprivation, had been my soul's journey into transmigration.

And then, an overwhelming force hit me. I awoke from the emptiness, feeling my body being pushed by a powerful force, compressed, as if passing through a narrow, scorching tunnel. The pressure increased in waves, crushing me, suffocating me, until a biting chill brushed my skin for the first time. The shock made my awareness burn with a mixture of pain and astonishment.

The journey seemed endless. Every second brought new layers of discomfort, and I felt exposed, driven by a force beyond my control. Suddenly, something gave way, and I was thrust into an unknown world, flooded by a blinding light that seared my sensitive eyes.

I tried to react, but my body was heavy, clumsy, as though it didn't belong to me yet. My lungs, dormant until now, sucked in air for the first time, with an instinctive desperation. The air cut into me like a cold knife, forcing out a hoarse, helpless cry.

Around me, I heard muffled voices, distant and blurred, as though coming from another world, while warm hands cradled me, wrapping me in a soft, gentle cloth. The softness contrasted sharply with the brutality I had just endured. A warmth surrounded me again, but this time it was different; it came from outside, enveloping me protectively.

My eyes, still unable to see clearly, registered only shadows and diffused light. I had left one mystery behind and entered another. To exist in this new space was both strange and oddly familiar, a relief I hadn't felt in what seemed like eons. Surrounded by sounds, touches, and fresh sensations, I felt my weary body finally relax.

I didn't know where I was or who these beings were around me, but for the first time, I felt that I had arrived.