Excerpt: Keep it Clean

I actually liked the idea of never having existed. There was no mess there. It was a clean, pure surface where might have hovered the shitstained couch of my life. It used to be that the idea of dying, and the resultant death and emptiness and lack of everything ever would terrify me. I would have minor panic attacks when I was younger-- it would strike me with force that one day, my eyes that see this world, that see this window and these trees and this house, those eyes would see nothing. This nose that breathes in fennel and the lingering smell of lunch's roast chicken, this nose would smell nothing. Fingers would touch but would not feel. Tongue would bloat and would not taste. And my thoughts would be gone, like a memory stick restored to factory settings. Blank, even empty of the understanding of what was lost.

This once made me panic, but now brought me some bitter peace. When I realized that, I knew I must be depressed and may as well just throw in the towel already. I happened to be on one of my long walks when I came to this conclusion. Low-hanging tree branches grasped at me. A bird stopped its trill when I neared, and I heard the crackle of leaves underfoot coming from my right. I inhaled and smelled stagnant water, smelling like algae and old fishtank.

Not long after its scent greeted me, the pond presented itself. I stepped into loose ground, and when I withdrew my foot, it was caked in black-brown dirt, and dripping with icy water. The pond was almost invisible, it was so laden with leaves. Vines like mermaid hair tangled downward and listed below the surface of the water. I continued walking through the sludge with some difficulty. It was so cold it hurt, but I didn't mind. It was cold like the dead.

It stretched deeper than I would have thought, and I was strangely glad to dip my head into the murky waters. Something grabbed at my ankle. A water nymph? The hand was nothing but the straggle of a branch, soft with decay. So cold. I reached low to the bottom of the pond and found a thick root, pushing aside some pond creature, which scuttled over my hand. I grasped the root; it was so calm and pleasant down here, despite the growing fire in my lungs, and the ice of my skin. All I could hear was my heartbeat. It was thudding rapidly, perhaps because of the cold. The water was opaque, brown. It was almost like being buried. Leaves and slimy vegetation snaked around my limbs, welcoming me to the depths with rotting caresses. I yearned for air, but I was drowsy, in the childhood way, after a long day of sledding and building snowmen. So this is death. I couldn’t see for the dirty water, but in my mind’s eye I could see me, and I was at the bottom of an infinite ocean, and I was made of stone.

I couldn't hold my breath anymore, and I sucked in water. My body thrashed, and then I grew calm and peaceful at last.

Until I woke up.