The Truth about Death

Many people say that life meets death, moments before we pass out before death claims our soul and ferries us to the other side. It is at this moment that everything we do in life, all the people we've met, all the experiences we've had, all the places we've been to, and all the fleeting emotions we've both professed and received would surface and show itself to us. It is an exhibit of some sort, an art gallery full of surreal yet plausibly real subjects featuring 'us.' A one instant replay of our life in a gazillion frames per second. In this mysterious twilight, we watch as if we had time to feel everything again. Tears are shed, one last time, for our first heartbreak or the death of our loved ones. But these tears well up not to grieve, somewhat to appease ourselves for all the inevitable loss, the furtive deception, and broken dreams. We even get to feel that odd joy when we had our first kiss and all the forms of affection that followed suit -- that exquisite sweet taste as we explore the niceties of our partner's lips. As we feel the brink of her orifice, we indulge again as if we have all the time in the world, as if the stage is ours, as if the world is not watching.  These are the perks of 'living' – reminiscing gives us self-worth. That's why most people that underwent this stage were at peace. They were contented enough with what they achieved in life. They are assured for the safety of those they left behind to go to whatever awaits them. For them, this is a locus of serenity, peace, of tranquility. But for her, this is an appalling dream. She once was hurt and downtrodden, and life's adversaries had beaten her into a plump. She doesn't want to feel it again, and for that, she even declared to herself that God's only perfect doing was claiming her very own life. At least I'll find peace there. She thought moments before she executed her grand plan of suicide. She glanced at the screen. What befell her was the moment before her mother died while delivering her into the world. The doctor asked with utter sorrow, "The baby or you?" "Please choose yourself, hon. Please…." Her father exclaimed, holding his wife's hands as if he doesn't want to let go. "The baby." She weakly sighed. "Save the baby." In every person's life, we face a fork road between life and death. Whatever we choose, we know, would adversely affect the lives of everyone around us. This is life's Russian Roulette, a game where no one really wins. "This is not the peace that I wanted!" She yelled her lungs out, hoping somebody would hear her and turn this low-rated reality show off. She thumped and punched the vast screen, thinking brute force would break it. It was hard as a rock. She examined her hands, looking for blood; nothing, not even a trinket, appeared in her knuckles. I'm dead; how could I forget? She reminded herself. "She's not ready yet." She then heard a husky voice piercing all the background noise. From this, we see the bigger picture – our life's real purpose – painted in a colossal canvass smeared with all the jovial and heartrending encounters we had. "Who's there?" She yelled. She tried communicating, but no one answered her back. She glanced again at the television screen and noticed that everything was now blurry. She thought that the punch she threw may have done something good and wondered if she had given something like that to her boyfriend, she might have at least conciliated herself. In the real world… The stench of burnt metal filled the air minutes after a car crashed down a bricked infrastructure in 2nd Avenue. A populace of bystanders blockaded the street long before any rescue team arrived in the area. One man, brave enough, stormed through the crowd and into the fiery pit where a girl laid in the front seat of her car. "He's out of his mind!" One looky-loo told the other. "You think so?" The other one cried.  "I think he's military or marines. You see that tattoo in his right arm?" A businessman tried to put some sense in the other two's conversation. Upon arriving in the area, the man examined the girl. She looked like a sleeping princess, but instead of resting in a bed of roses carefully arranged by dwarfs, she is lying in a disarray of tribulations and anguish. He reclaimed his focus, for he knows the girl is now near-to-death from suffocation. The burning metal scorched his skin when he tried to open the car by the door's handle. He searched for a rock in the nearby area. When he found one, he smashed the window, releasing some of the accumulated smoke inside the car, giving more time for him to rescue this damsel in distress and more time for her to be alive. "I needed more time…" He told himself.  But he knows the tides are not in his favor this time. He heard the gas chamber screaming – much like when a pressure cooker hits its desired heat. Parts of the engine were razed by the collision. He needs to act fast. He grasped the door handle and screamed as the heat singes through his flesh. Alas, he opened the car. He extended his arms to grapple the girl's body as fast as he could. He knew he only had seconds left before the vehicle explodes. He was wrong. The car exploded right after he had the momentum to carry the girl out of the vehicle. The moment that the engine screeched to its peak, he jumped, caressing the girl into his arms. He covered her body with his, but the fire was never that easily defeated. The explosion tried to lunge on its prey but caught only the man's leg. At least, it had tasted triumph, for it knows that his leg would be irreparable. The man bellowed in pain. The car gave its final squeal. The girl coughed her life out. The crowd lauded the man's heroism. Police and rescue team vehicles howled. "I need you to be awake, sir." A doctor gently patted the man on his face. "Ye...Yes… I'm okay." He knows he's been shot with a dose of morphine, for he doesn't feel even an ounce of pain – that or he's dead. He would rather have the first one than the latter. "Sir, we only have one van that fits only a patient. I am asking you, sir, because you're conscious enough to answer would it be you or the girl, sir?" "Save the girl." The man said weakly. "N…No!" she retorted. Both the doctor and the man were shocked that she even had the strength to answer. Her body should now be in shock because of the immense heat inside the car and the loss of oxygen. "Ma'am, calm down. You'll be transferred to a nearby facility where they can attend to your needs." The doctor tried to comfort the girl. Now he faced the man, "Sir, I've given you a dose of morphine to relieve you of the pain. But, that and a little first aid application does not majorly help the situation with your leg. I've called the hospitals to send their ambulances as quickly as possible. In the meantime, please stay with me." The man weakly nodded to gesture his affirmation. He knew he had been in much worse situations – the war in Vietnam where death visits their platoon quite as often as the number of times we breathe. He befriended death then and welcomed him, but death was quite sly not to take him yet let him suffer, seeing his best friends lose their lives in the battle. Most people claiming that they had waltzed through the other side exalted that they had this contentment and peace. In the newspapers long before, a man named Patrick Cullen, being revived from a heart attack, described this miracle in a short yet meaningful exclamation, "It is this moment I 'understood' why." "Why?" The girl queried the man beside her as she was being pushed towards the ambulance. The man just beamed a smile in response. When the girl was wheeled out of his sight, he sighed, "Because I love my wife. And I miss her so much."