The Journey

November 11, 2010
By , Boston, MA
Pain, darkness, my body is spiraling down faster and faster. My chest is tightening; my heart beat picks up as I anticipate my hitting the ground. I can’t see anything; there is nothing to hear beside the sound of my rapid breathing. I close my eyes and brace myself for the impact, not knowing what else to do. All of a sudden the motion stops, I finally hit the ground. But instead of the horrible welcoming I thought I would receive, it is a soft graceful collapse. Collapse isn’t even the right word, it almost felt as though I had landed on a mountain of pillows, almost as if I am being cradled in a mother’s arms. I open my eyes to find myself on a soft patch of emerald grass, there are flowers and trees scattered in the distance. A light breeze hits my face; I close my eyes and breathe in every second of it. I lie down to let the sun splashed down on my face; it is so rich that I can almost taste it. “Where am I?” I think to myself. This place is far too perfect and I don’t remember how I got here. I stand up suddenly frantic, am I lost? Running now I try to find an answer to this mysterious land of peace. I realize as I run how every animal and every plant seem to be in perfect harmony. It’s almost as tough I’m disturbing the tranquility that they have perfected in this meadow. As I am dashing through the harmonious field something catches my eye, a house of some sort sitting in the distance. I start to run faster. I know that whoever lives there must have an answer to my question. The small house is so simple. It is a mossy stone cottage with wild flowers surrounding it. The slightly dented roof is home to a short chimney which is exhaling smoke from a fire that must be blazing on the inside. There is no road connecting the house to civilization nor a mail box nor electric cable. The house is in complete isolation which makes me wonder how the people living inside survive. I approach the house and give three small knocks on the door. Soon after the door opens on its own, I hesitantly walk in. The little home is almost like a doll house. It is so welcoming and warm that any fear I might have had hidden in the back of my head has now flown away. There are two chairs facing the fire and when I recognize who is sitting in them it all becomes clear to me. I know how I got here. My memory flashes back to that night. The cold rain was harshly pricking my skin as I walked out of the party. Unlike myself my friends were heavily intoxicated with several different types of liquor. I don’t want to drive home with them but I figure anything is better than walking home in rain. I was wrong. I get in the car and my friend can barely keep the wheel straight. Next thing I know the breaks are screeching and wheels are turning. A pair of ice white head lights is coming towards me and then, there is nothing but darkness. I look at the silver hair women sitting in the chair by the fire; I haven’ seen her in ten years now. She looks back at me and grins. Her smile radiates warmth better than the fire. I always liked that about her. I then ask the question that she was anticipating to hear, “I’m dead aren’t I Grandma?”

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