Footprints on the Moon
I have once been dead for seventy five seconds of my life. These few seconds felt like centuries. These tiny centuries would build up and create my most mind blowing experience. This mind blowing experience made me who I am today. I just don’t know who I am yet.
In those seventy five seconds I have felt emotions I’ve never felt, seen colors that don’t even have a name on our planet, and tasted things that taste like sun and humbleness. I had discovered things that scientists have yet to even think of. I’ve seen the most beautiful person, and it certainly isn’t Johnny Depp or Angelina Jolie. I’ve experienced senses that we don’t even have a body part for.
With those little experiences, and those tiny centuries, I have to create something. Something beautiful, my grandmother had told me. Was I supposed to be beautiful? Was this twisted pleasure of mine supposed to make me better?
I have only ever told my grandmother of my experience. She had been curious once she heard what the doctors told them. She ‘wanted to know what she was in for’, I guess. She told me to keep it to myself. Not to tell anyone, for they won’t believe. I felt like I was in a fantasy story or something. I couldn’t tell anyone, since they won’t believe that I’m a witch or whatever.
Who would I tell anyways?
My best friend was my sister, Lucia. She was worried enough about me. After the accident it had been nothing but concern and sympathy. No empathy, anywhere. She didn’t understand where I stood now. She thought I was still the same fourteen year old girl. Every time I looked at her, I saw fear and sympathy. Not one ounce of empathy. Only my grandmother understood the fear that comes along with death. She was on the brink of it with her advancing cancer. She understood the fear and acceptance that came along with death. I didn’t. It came spontaneously.
But now that I think about it – I shouldn’t even be able to say my story by now. If I had died for those seventy five seconds, why am I still here? Why did I wake up once more?
I had a reason to stay on this imperfect planet.
In those seventy five seconds I have felt emotions I’ve never felt, seen colors that don’t even have a name on our planet, and tasted things that taste like sun and humbleness. I had discovered things that scientists have yet to even think of. I’ve seen the most beautiful person, and it certainly isn’t Johnny Depp or Angelina Jolie. I’ve experienced senses that we don’t even have a body part for.
With those little experiences, and those tiny centuries, I have to create something. Something beautiful, my grandmother had told me. Was I supposed to be beautiful? Was this twisted pleasure of mine supposed to make me better?
I have only ever told my grandmother of my experience. She had been curious once she heard what the doctors told them. She ‘wanted to know what she was in for’, I guess. She told me to keep it to myself. Not to tell anyone, for they won’t believe. I felt like I was in a fantasy story or something. I couldn’t tell anyone, since they won’t believe that I’m a witch or whatever.
Who would I tell anyways?
My best friend was my sister, Lucia. She was worried enough about me. After the accident it had been nothing but concern and sympathy. No empathy, anywhere. She didn’t understand where I stood now. She thought I was still the same fourteen year old girl. Every time I looked at her, I saw fear and sympathy. Not one ounce of empathy. Only my grandmother understood the fear that comes along with death. She was on the brink of it with her advancing cancer. She understood the fear and acceptance that came along with death. I didn’t. It came spontaneously.
But now that I think about it – I shouldn’t even be able to say my story by now. If I had died for those seventy five seconds, why am I still here? Why did I wake up once more?
I had a reason to stay on this imperfect planet.