I died.
I died peacefully, yet meaninglessly.
I did not accomplish anything. That is why I call it meaningless. Thankfully, I did not leave behind any unbearable regrets, nor did I pass away in a gruesome manner, so I suppose it was peaceful.
…
Okay, maybe I lied.
I do regret quite a few things. When I was alive, I could distract myself from them by reading novels, playing video games, talking with friends, and losing myself in noise. But now, trapped in this void with no feeling or sensation, it feels as though all my doubts and fears, the ones that usually surfaced after three in the morning, have been magnified a thousandfold.
There is nothing else to do here except listen to my own thoughts, echoing endlessly against this pitch-black canvas.
I grieved that I would never see my family again. I mourned the fact that I never lived up to my full potential, that I let myself down. I was devastated by the realization that I was trapped in this mind-numbing limbo.
I could not help but think that perhaps I should have been more devoted to my religion, Hinduism. Maybe then my afterlife would not have been this prison of darkness. Maybe I would have been reincarnated peacefully instead.
But all of that was moot now.
Or so I thought.
Not physically, of course. I had no body to sit with, no lungs to breathe with, no senses to ground me. But I reflected on my entire life nonetheless.
After what could have been hours, minutes, or seconds, time had no meaning here, I decided to meditate.
I had always meant to do it while alive. I never did. I always made excuses. Now, with nothing else to occupy me, I finally committed to it.
At first, it was difficult. My regrets and despair kept pulling me away, clawing for attention. But when there is only one task before you, one would be surprised at how completely a human can devote themselves to it.
When my mind finally settled, I anchored myself with a single thought.
Find a spark of mystery.
My situation was undeniably supernatural. Perhaps this was the next step of the soul's journey after death. Deluding myself or not, I searched desperately for something—anything—that could free me from this eternal darkness. The thought of spending eternity here was terrifying.
After an inordinate amount of time, I found it.
A spark of energy within me.
I did not know whether it was a delusion or something truly real, but I had no choice except to accept it as such.
Its existence made me feel alive.
I focused on that ember with everything I had. It was the only thing that was not black.
The only thing that was real.
I poured everything into it—every memory I was afraid to lose, every emotion I carried, every fragment of my identity—feeding the flame so it would not extinguish, so neither it nor I would decay in the void.
The flame was life.
And where else would I store the culmination of my existence, if not within life itself?
The more I fed the flame, the brighter it became. No—that is not quite right. It felt more as though I was gas, and I was feeding myself into it to keep it burning. I grew smaller as it grew brighter.
Yet nothing was lost.
The parts of myself I fed to the flame were not sacrificed. They were enhanced. My memories became clearer, my emotions deeper, more vivid than they had ever been.
In that moment, I gained a conviction greater than any vow I had ever made while alive.
I would feed every part of myself to the flame.
Every atom. Every memory. Even my thoughts and soul.
And thus, my immolation began.
As I continued, the void grew clearer, thinner, almost nonexistent. It should have been terrifying, but instead I felt more complete than ever before.
…
It was a slow process. Time had no meaning, and the concentration required was immense. But when it was finished, I felt enlightened.
I could recall any memory with perfect clarity, reliving it as though it had just occurred.
Then, finally, I woke up.
My eyes opened to darkness. My body felt constricted, trapped within some fleshy prison. It was not sight or touch as I once knew them, but a strange, supernatural awareness.
Then I heard it.
A deep, rhythmic sound.
A heartbeat.
I was a fetus.
I was not in limbo. I was living again.
I cried—not physically, for I was incapable of that—but mentally. Tears of overwhelming relief. I would not be trapped in eternity. I had another chance.
I could live again.
…
After collecting myself, I analyzed my situation.
Logically, I should not have been able to think. My senses should not have existed. Sentience should have been impossible.
This was undeniably supernatural.
And I understood the reason.
The Flame.
I was exhilarated. Who wouldn't be upon realizing they possessed something akin to a superpower? I theorized that I could perceive my soul, or at least interact with my mindscape. That would explain the Flame and the Void.
I had gained photographic memory, heightened consciousness, and an unnatural calm. It resembled the Gamer's Mind, but instead of dissociation, it was awareness—partitioned, controlled, absolute.
Naturally, I tried to move.
Nothing.
My body did not respond.
So, just as I had fed myself to the flame before, I entered a one-track state of mind once more—this time focused on establishing a connection between mind and body and gaining greater awareness of my new form.