5 People You Meet in a Coma
If life and the "here afterlife" were captured by a cartographer, then perhaps you could describe it as a grandeur parfait; a light fluffy cream which exists at the top of the glass of reality, stacked atop an expansive grey mush of tapioca pudding and completed by the fiery cherry red base which could ignite a palette with but a tongue's taste.
Such is life and the afterlife.
When the last breath exhales through cooling lips and the heart ceases its base drum beat, there exists a sort of people who were blessed with the tin halos to wear upon their heads. They've worn them since they day they took their first breath. The kind of people who never missed a Sunday sermon, the faithful who would always place a tenth of their income to tithe in the collection plate as it was handed down the aisle from person to person. The kind of Good Samaritan who didn't hesitate a second's tick to drop some change in a bum's cup and the person who always said their peace silently and counted to three "Hail Marys" as they knelt down within the confessional booth.
Yes, "those" kinds of people.
When someone tells you, "You go to Hell. You go to Hell and you die!" the logical retort for the damned would be... "Got to believe in Hell first before I can go there." And for the souls which have yet to pierce the golden gates of paradise there is damnation and penance. These are the kind of people destined to burn forever in flesh stinging cages and brimstone hearth pits; an overdue invoice for atrocities and sins committed in life, where they willingly chose their fate to commit these fouls. After the last breath passes through the frigid lips of this sort of person, there is no uplifting light but only a consuming darkness that precedes an endless downward spiral.
But? what of those in between the saved and the damned?
Those people of disproportionate quantities of faith and sin...
What is their purpose for remaining in between the levels fluff and cherry?
The last few moments of his awareness ended with an icy clutch at his heart, and the weight of death's chains siphoning him downward into a featureless black fathom. With her sadistic and angered smash, he was consigned to the big sleep? and he probably deserved it. These last few moments of his life erased as quickly as it began, a flash of light at birth and an abrupt darkness of death.
However... this is not the true ending of this story.
This is a story about a man named Gunther, and it begins at the end with Gun comatose on the floor. ?You might think it?s strange to start a story with an ending? but as Mitch Albom once wrote "...All endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time..."
------------------
Gunther lay upstairs of the Shaved Kurii prone and entrapped in his own bodily prison. Quick actions by the Lupinossi know as Fleet and application of a readily handy crash kit had precariously stabilized the broken mending of a shattered man.
The mind was active, but the on switch for the body was currently in its off position. In the mind was where Gun lay in the darkness of endless and frigid ebony walls. Floating and falling nowhere submerged by parched water, his anchor to reality lost until his self buoyed with the gentle whisper that came from all directions muffled and distorted.
------------------
I can't lift my hand! I can't see! What the hell is going on?
I thought I remember seeing Rishi, Ammy, and her mother... I felt Alae... I heard Fleet ask me something... I thought I was knocking on a door to Ammy's room... I remember shooting something. Wasn't I sitting at my desk?
I think hear Brutin and Alae?
So many voices. I can't understand anything?
This is like some crazy dream...
Am I dead? Am I alive? Where am I?
Wait... whispers.
Da?
Mokksha?
She is near.
It has to be her; she must scared.
I wish I could squeeze her shoulder or at least hug her.
I wish I could tell her to be brave and to not rile up her mother.
I wish I could rub Alae's belly to make sure she and the baby are ok...
But I can't move...
Why did this happen!? What did I do wrong?!
------------------
In the dark cell, soft creaks of an un-oiled door turned on blind hinges and a soft amber light broke through the crack with clarity abound. Audible flow of water rushed through the doorway the light nearly blinding as it approached in the torrent.
In this river, he drifted toward it floating down the unseen current...
Gun awoke in a flood of sepia light when his eyes finally squinted open. Face first with a mouthful of water, he felt drenched but at the same time completely dry as he crawled slowly on palms and knees delivered into this world by the motherly waters. There was nothing but a deaf hum of whispered words as he gazed around. Sound, sight, taste, smell, and feeling all exploded in a rush as sepia tone faded into verdant color. Bird calls and flapping of wings along with the chirps of squirrels, and the water of a brook from the creek trickling past him. All about where the fallen leaves and pine needles of a forgotten red and sienna memory. Bushes rustled in the wild growth near the waterline during this time of autumn, the time of change where creatures of all sorts prepared for the frigid months to come from winter?s bite. Squirrels felled nuts while birds migrated in haste toward the Southern horizon.
This place was familiar, the smell of the water, the leaves, and wait? the fish. It all reminded him of someplace important to him. Gunther?s eyes leveled at a mumbled conversation of two figures which came in the distance from the forest path at a leisurely pace, a man and a young boy. A father and son? hands tightly grasped between one another and they stopped at the edge of the lake just a false start penalty length from him.
--------------------
Dad?
Wait, I remember this place.
You used to come take me fishing when I was young.
This? this is Myers Lake.
God damn that was a long time ago.
You know what Pa? I miss those days.
--------------------
?Pa? Why is the sky blue??
?Sky?s blue because it?s filled with air son.?
?Pa? Does water have air? Is that why fishies can stay there??
?Fishies got gills Gunny."
?Pa? Can I have gills? Want to be friends with the fish so I can have Kahn eat them.?
The man laughed. ?Tell you what; we?ll catch some extra fish so you and Kahn can be nice fat cats.?
?Yay! You hear that Kahn?!? the boy crouched on his heels and looked as if he was petting empty air with gentle strokes? that is until a rather young tiger of orange and black hues appeared from nothingness with a glimmering glow.
?Alright son, time to say goodbye to Kahn.? the father said with a clunk of a rusty crimson tackle box to the ground.
?You remember how to tie lures like I taught you? Don?t you ever forget how to do this, promise me you?ll always remember??
?Yes pa. I promise to never forget how to tie lures and fish.? the boy turned and waved to the glimmering tiger with reluctance.
?Seeyah, Shere Kahn! Alright dad, let?s catch some fish!?
--------------------
You know? I almost forgot about Shere Kahn, he was my first true friend. My best friend and confidant that would help me with my homework, eat the vegetables I didn?t like, and play with me to cheer me up when I was lonely; Kahn the tiger cub that I orphaned right off the back yard of our house after my make believe trip to India. What is that poem Mom used to tell me about Kahn...?
TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
- William Blake 1757-1827 -
--------------------
?Hey there Old Man. Thought you?d never get here and I'm glad you still remember the poem.? the young tiger echoed as it padded with a familiarity over from the child to the helpless man and nudged him with a soft feline paw.
?Long time no see Gunny. Don?t try to talk yet because you don?t know how to do that on your own and just listen. You?re probably asking yourself the $10,000 question of why you?re back here at Myers Lake and talking to an imaginary friend you?ve not spoken to in 50 years. Don?t talk. Just follow me. You asked some questions and let?s go find those answers pal.?
Another door opened, just a few feet from them. With silent curses of volatile foulness in his mind, Gun crawled toward Kahn and together they both entered the doorway to unknown. Into the wave of blackness they padded side by side and eventually their footsteps crushed onto red velvet carpeting that echoed along the furnishings running an infinite distance in both directions.
--------------------
Strangely gaudy with the ornaments of gilded golden lit lamps with flickering oiled flames, a plethora of paintings adorned the walls of all sizes, shapes, and styles. Some paintings were large in the style of realism, filled with color and depicted moving fragments of memories. Others images were raw, sometimes filled with single colors of reds, greens, and blues swirling about in a reckless whirlpool of feeling and emotion. And yet there were others which seemed to be still life, frozen in time lacking all hue, crackled and creased with the degradation of forgetfulness.
Gun quickly looked to his side, and his friend was no longer walking beside him but lounging lazily on the carpet beneath a tremendously large mural just to his right. Inching slowly toward Kahn, he swore that as if the hallway was stretching further away from him and he wasn?t able to keep up the pace. To his feet he went, balancing cautiously and with slow movements he drew closer to his destination. Stumbling back to all fours in the second and third steps, Gunther was determined to get there. An odd allusion to the first steps a child takes when first learning to walk as parents filmed hooted and hollered squatted with open arms. There was no parent, there was no camera? the only thing that waited in Gun?s first steps was a patiently awaiting tiger that seemed complacent awaiting an old friend.
?You?re not dead Gun. You?re lying on a bed in at the Rhy?Din Hospital with all sorts of wires coming out of you trying to keep you alive. Physically, you?re fine? but mentally? something?s missing like when Mom forgot to serve bacon with the eggs you had for breakfast. There?s something keeping you from wanting to wake up, and you know what it is, but just can?t accept it.?
The Kahn rose to his haunches and looked upward for Gun?s gaze to follow upwards and unto the mural whose slow shifting colors seemed to sink limitlessly into the wall it hung upon.
?Gun, we?re at the outer edge of the dream world. Unfortunately, you can?t go any deeper than where we are at now because you are just too green. We both know that you?ve been here before and you had help. You had access to a bridge once, but now you have to figure out how to get back there on your own without her. You?ll have to re-learn everything, even how to walk, talk, fight, and how to think while you?re dreaming. And when you?re ready, you?ll find the answers you?re looking for.?
?Do you remember the time that the girl next door Suzy wanted to play House with me and you threw such a tantrum that it made her go home and cry? You actually slapped her. You told Dad that I was the one who hit her. Remember your lesson that Dad spanked in to your butt? When you screw up, you man up. My lesson to you is to remind you not to blame others for your own mistakes. Once you take responsibility for them, you can learn from them and grow stronger.?
?We were an unbeatable team you and me Gunny. We fought as swashbucklers against pirates and evil sultans in India, co-pilots over Hiroshima, and we even went to the Moon. Wherever you go, I?ll be with you. I always was and always will be an important part of who you were. Oh one more thing, your mind made me real to you, and that?s the way things work around here as well.? leveling his jump just before Gun?s standing form, the tiger leapt up onto the right arm and faded into translucent air leaving a tattoo of a lunging Kahn on the underside of Gun?s forearm.
Turning on his heels the carpet beneath shirked at the strain of his ample weight. A gradual change began to take place with each carefully placed foot step that had gone unnoticed; the attire adorning his body changed. Black laced combat boots covered in red mud and grass stains, a beaten metal canteen that?s seen the wear and tear of a year in the field, red and yellow stained jungle toned camouflage, a dark sweat stained headband that clung to the ridges of his brow, and the jingling set of metal dog tags that lay close to his neck replacing the chain which formerly held a spurned and blackening engagement ring? all appeared from nothing.
?Turn to the right Gun. Look at the photo.? whispered the young tiger?s voice.
?What do you say Gunny? Let?s go get the drop on some Commies for old time?s sake yeah??
Gunther followed to Kahn?s suggestion and came face to face with a splitting image of himself in a black and white photo taken during his deployment in the Vietnam War. A lingering deep breath inhaled and exhaled through his body as he easily remembered the harrowing jitters of the day he was in country and unto the well burned memories of the first person he ever ?zapped.? In a flash of blue azure electricity, Gunther Choskasy vanished into the photographic frame.
--------------------
If life and the "here afterlife" were captured by a cartographer, then perhaps you could describe it as a grandeur parfait; a light fluffy cream which exists at the top of the glass of reality, stacked atop an expansive grey mush of tapioca pudding and completed by the fiery cherry red base which could ignite a palette with but a tongue's taste.
Such is life and the afterlife.
When the last breath exhales through cooling lips and the heart ceases its base drum beat, there exists a sort of people who were blessed with the tin halos to wear upon their heads. They've worn them since they day they took their first breath. The kind of people who never missed a Sunday sermon, the faithful who would always place a tenth of their income to tithe in the collection plate as it was handed down the aisle from person to person. The kind of Good Samaritan who didn't hesitate a second's tick to drop some change in a bum's cup and the person who always said their peace silently and counted to three "Hail Marys" as they knelt down within the confessional booth.
Yes, "those" kinds of people.
When someone tells you, "You go to Hell. You go to Hell and you die!" the logical retort for the damned would be... "Got to believe in Hell first before I can go there." And for the souls which have yet to pierce the golden gates of paradise there is damnation and penance. These are the kind of people destined to burn forever in flesh stinging cages and brimstone hearth pits; an overdue invoice for atrocities and sins committed in life, where they willingly chose their fate to commit these fouls. After the last breath passes through the frigid lips of this sort of person, there is no uplifting light but only a consuming darkness that precedes an endless downward spiral.
But? what of those in between the saved and the damned?
Those people of disproportionate quantities of faith and sin...
What is their purpose for remaining in between the levels fluff and cherry?
The last few moments of his awareness ended with an icy clutch at his heart, and the weight of death's chains siphoning him downward into a featureless black fathom. With her sadistic and angered smash, he was consigned to the big sleep? and he probably deserved it. These last few moments of his life erased as quickly as it began, a flash of light at birth and an abrupt darkness of death.
However... this is not the true ending of this story.
This is a story about a man named Gunther, and it begins at the end with Gun comatose on the floor. ?You might think it?s strange to start a story with an ending? but as Mitch Albom once wrote "...All endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time..."
------------------
Gunther lay upstairs of the Shaved Kurii prone and entrapped in his own bodily prison. Quick actions by the Lupinossi know as Fleet and application of a readily handy crash kit had precariously stabilized the broken mending of a shattered man.
The mind was active, but the on switch for the body was currently in its off position. In the mind was where Gun lay in the darkness of endless and frigid ebony walls. Floating and falling nowhere submerged by parched water, his anchor to reality lost until his self buoyed with the gentle whisper that came from all directions muffled and distorted.
------------------
I can't lift my hand! I can't see! What the hell is going on?
I thought I remember seeing Rishi, Ammy, and her mother... I felt Alae... I heard Fleet ask me something... I thought I was knocking on a door to Ammy's room... I remember shooting something. Wasn't I sitting at my desk?
I think hear Brutin and Alae?
So many voices. I can't understand anything?
This is like some crazy dream...
Am I dead? Am I alive? Where am I?
Wait... whispers.
Da?
Mokksha?
She is near.
It has to be her; she must scared.
I wish I could squeeze her shoulder or at least hug her.
I wish I could tell her to be brave and to not rile up her mother.
I wish I could rub Alae's belly to make sure she and the baby are ok...
But I can't move...
Why did this happen!? What did I do wrong?!
------------------
In the dark cell, soft creaks of an un-oiled door turned on blind hinges and a soft amber light broke through the crack with clarity abound. Audible flow of water rushed through the doorway the light nearly blinding as it approached in the torrent.
In this river, he drifted toward it floating down the unseen current...
Gun awoke in a flood of sepia light when his eyes finally squinted open. Face first with a mouthful of water, he felt drenched but at the same time completely dry as he crawled slowly on palms and knees delivered into this world by the motherly waters. There was nothing but a deaf hum of whispered words as he gazed around. Sound, sight, taste, smell, and feeling all exploded in a rush as sepia tone faded into verdant color. Bird calls and flapping of wings along with the chirps of squirrels, and the water of a brook from the creek trickling past him. All about where the fallen leaves and pine needles of a forgotten red and sienna memory. Bushes rustled in the wild growth near the waterline during this time of autumn, the time of change where creatures of all sorts prepared for the frigid months to come from winter?s bite. Squirrels felled nuts while birds migrated in haste toward the Southern horizon.
This place was familiar, the smell of the water, the leaves, and wait? the fish. It all reminded him of someplace important to him. Gunther?s eyes leveled at a mumbled conversation of two figures which came in the distance from the forest path at a leisurely pace, a man and a young boy. A father and son? hands tightly grasped between one another and they stopped at the edge of the lake just a false start penalty length from him.
--------------------
Dad?
Wait, I remember this place.
You used to come take me fishing when I was young.
This? this is Myers Lake.
God damn that was a long time ago.
You know what Pa? I miss those days.
--------------------
?Pa? Why is the sky blue??
?Sky?s blue because it?s filled with air son.?
?Pa? Does water have air? Is that why fishies can stay there??
?Fishies got gills Gunny."
?Pa? Can I have gills? Want to be friends with the fish so I can have Kahn eat them.?
The man laughed. ?Tell you what; we?ll catch some extra fish so you and Kahn can be nice fat cats.?
?Yay! You hear that Kahn?!? the boy crouched on his heels and looked as if he was petting empty air with gentle strokes? that is until a rather young tiger of orange and black hues appeared from nothingness with a glimmering glow.
?Alright son, time to say goodbye to Kahn.? the father said with a clunk of a rusty crimson tackle box to the ground.
?You remember how to tie lures like I taught you? Don?t you ever forget how to do this, promise me you?ll always remember??
?Yes pa. I promise to never forget how to tie lures and fish.? the boy turned and waved to the glimmering tiger with reluctance.
?Seeyah, Shere Kahn! Alright dad, let?s catch some fish!?
--------------------
You know? I almost forgot about Shere Kahn, he was my first true friend. My best friend and confidant that would help me with my homework, eat the vegetables I didn?t like, and play with me to cheer me up when I was lonely; Kahn the tiger cub that I orphaned right off the back yard of our house after my make believe trip to India. What is that poem Mom used to tell me about Kahn...?
TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
- William Blake 1757-1827 -
--------------------
?Hey there Old Man. Thought you?d never get here and I'm glad you still remember the poem.? the young tiger echoed as it padded with a familiarity over from the child to the helpless man and nudged him with a soft feline paw.
?Long time no see Gunny. Don?t try to talk yet because you don?t know how to do that on your own and just listen. You?re probably asking yourself the $10,000 question of why you?re back here at Myers Lake and talking to an imaginary friend you?ve not spoken to in 50 years. Don?t talk. Just follow me. You asked some questions and let?s go find those answers pal.?
Another door opened, just a few feet from them. With silent curses of volatile foulness in his mind, Gun crawled toward Kahn and together they both entered the doorway to unknown. Into the wave of blackness they padded side by side and eventually their footsteps crushed onto red velvet carpeting that echoed along the furnishings running an infinite distance in both directions.
--------------------
Strangely gaudy with the ornaments of gilded golden lit lamps with flickering oiled flames, a plethora of paintings adorned the walls of all sizes, shapes, and styles. Some paintings were large in the style of realism, filled with color and depicted moving fragments of memories. Others images were raw, sometimes filled with single colors of reds, greens, and blues swirling about in a reckless whirlpool of feeling and emotion. And yet there were others which seemed to be still life, frozen in time lacking all hue, crackled and creased with the degradation of forgetfulness.
Gun quickly looked to his side, and his friend was no longer walking beside him but lounging lazily on the carpet beneath a tremendously large mural just to his right. Inching slowly toward Kahn, he swore that as if the hallway was stretching further away from him and he wasn?t able to keep up the pace. To his feet he went, balancing cautiously and with slow movements he drew closer to his destination. Stumbling back to all fours in the second and third steps, Gunther was determined to get there. An odd allusion to the first steps a child takes when first learning to walk as parents filmed hooted and hollered squatted with open arms. There was no parent, there was no camera? the only thing that waited in Gun?s first steps was a patiently awaiting tiger that seemed complacent awaiting an old friend.
?You?re not dead Gun. You?re lying on a bed in at the Rhy?Din Hospital with all sorts of wires coming out of you trying to keep you alive. Physically, you?re fine? but mentally? something?s missing like when Mom forgot to serve bacon with the eggs you had for breakfast. There?s something keeping you from wanting to wake up, and you know what it is, but just can?t accept it.?
The Kahn rose to his haunches and looked upward for Gun?s gaze to follow upwards and unto the mural whose slow shifting colors seemed to sink limitlessly into the wall it hung upon.
?Gun, we?re at the outer edge of the dream world. Unfortunately, you can?t go any deeper than where we are at now because you are just too green. We both know that you?ve been here before and you had help. You had access to a bridge once, but now you have to figure out how to get back there on your own without her. You?ll have to re-learn everything, even how to walk, talk, fight, and how to think while you?re dreaming. And when you?re ready, you?ll find the answers you?re looking for.?
?Do you remember the time that the girl next door Suzy wanted to play House with me and you threw such a tantrum that it made her go home and cry? You actually slapped her. You told Dad that I was the one who hit her. Remember your lesson that Dad spanked in to your butt? When you screw up, you man up. My lesson to you is to remind you not to blame others for your own mistakes. Once you take responsibility for them, you can learn from them and grow stronger.?
?We were an unbeatable team you and me Gunny. We fought as swashbucklers against pirates and evil sultans in India, co-pilots over Hiroshima, and we even went to the Moon. Wherever you go, I?ll be with you. I always was and always will be an important part of who you were. Oh one more thing, your mind made me real to you, and that?s the way things work around here as well.? leveling his jump just before Gun?s standing form, the tiger leapt up onto the right arm and faded into translucent air leaving a tattoo of a lunging Kahn on the underside of Gun?s forearm.
Turning on his heels the carpet beneath shirked at the strain of his ample weight. A gradual change began to take place with each carefully placed foot step that had gone unnoticed; the attire adorning his body changed. Black laced combat boots covered in red mud and grass stains, a beaten metal canteen that?s seen the wear and tear of a year in the field, red and yellow stained jungle toned camouflage, a dark sweat stained headband that clung to the ridges of his brow, and the jingling set of metal dog tags that lay close to his neck replacing the chain which formerly held a spurned and blackening engagement ring? all appeared from nothing.
?Turn to the right Gun. Look at the photo.? whispered the young tiger?s voice.
?What do you say Gunny? Let?s go get the drop on some Commies for old time?s sake yeah??
Gunther followed to Kahn?s suggestion and came face to face with a splitting image of himself in a black and white photo taken during his deployment in the Vietnam War. A lingering deep breath inhaled and exhaled through his body as he easily remembered the harrowing jitters of the day he was in country and unto the well burned memories of the first person he ever ?zapped.? In a flash of blue azure electricity, Gunther Choskasy vanished into the photographic frame.
--------------------