I don’t know what happens when we die. I don’t recall having a floaty feeling where I’m looking down at my corpse as I ascend upwards. I’m not sure if I would have made a pretty corpse at that point, all bloated and soggy. I’m not sure if we speak to a celestial being and plead our case and He chooses pearly gates or fiery desolation. I’m not sure if we just die and remain dead. I’m not sure if we are recycled and re-used again. I have always had strict beliefs, which I kept to myself. I’m not sure if everything and anything that becomes of us is predetermined. But being dead. Feeling dead. It made no sense, why was I soaking wet? Why was I staring up at the night sky which had pretty much taken my life just a few seconds ago? I felt as if air was roar...

Please subscribe to keep reading.