Hereafter — You Actually Die Twice

There is a theory about death that you die twice | YA Fiction Writing

CONTENT WARNING: mention of suicide, death and course language

CHAPTER ONE

I’ve been dead for six months. It happened quickly. Too quickly. It’s still fuzzy in places, my memory, that is. The car, the snow, the deer, the bend, blackness; Silence. Then screams, my sister’s screams followed by flames and crunching metal. That is all I can remember, all I will allow myself to remember, flashes and bursts of memory. I have been in the Death Zone for two Star Births now, which Theo tells me is about six months. So let’s get one thing clear; the Death Zone isn’t hell or heaven or even purgatory.

You don’t end up here because God decided. No. You end up here because you just do. Let me tell you now, it is a fate far worse than hell. There is a theory about death that you die twice. How might you ask? Well, once when you are buried in your grave and the second time is the last time that somebody mentions your name and that my friends is the Death Zone. A cruel existence in the seventh dimension, the “emotional or dream world,” as science calls it. So, you might be thinking, those lucky bastards with generic names like John or that bitch Jessica will live forever.

There are no loopholes in the Death Zone; for you to continue to ‘live’ in the Death Zone, someone who knows you or knows of you needs to mention your name. Sounds simple, right? Take Michael Jackson, for example, everyone knows him, everyone will continue to know of him, that lucky son of a bitch will live forever. So now you ask the question, can’t someone you meet here just keep saying your name? But alas, it doesn’t work like that. For you to continue your existence in the Death Zone, someone from the living world must mention your name.

My name is Jason; it is generic as it comes, but as I said earlier, someone who knows you has to say it, or it doesn’t work. How do you know if your name has been mentioned? Well, the sky pulses like the Northern Lights when someone’s name is mentioned, only for a moment but long and bright enough for you to notice. Basically, if you were quiet, unpopular, or antisocial in your previous life, you’re fucked. When I first arrived here, my name was mentioned twice daily for about a month. Now, I’m lucky if it gets mentioned once every two weeks. The Death Zone isn’t really a place; it doesn’t look like anything you’ve seen on Earth, that is. It is a black void in the seventh dimension, literally a pocket of blackness that can hold the million or so unfortunate souls who found their way here. I am sure if you were to see this place, you wouldn’t see human figures walking around in the darkness; we’ve probably turned into some sort of elemental being unable to be seen with the human eye. So yes, a great place to live out the rest of your dreadful existence.

As Theo and I walk silently through the Death Zone, the sky pulses a light shade of purple, illuminating the darkness for a brief moment. It is in that moment I glance to my left to get a brief look at him. I’ve known the guy for a month or two, and I still don’t have a clear idea of what he looks like. I know he is extremely skinny and has one of those bellies like those African kids you see on World Vision billboards. He’s at least a head taller than me and has long black Bob Marley dreadlocks to the middle of his back. I reckon he could have been a surfer back on Earth.

I wish I could say life in the Death Zone isn’t as bad as I’ve made it out to be, but this place is, in all honesty, a shithole. From the constant feeling of dread that sits in the pit of your stomach to vivid flashes of how you died every time you close your eyes. Those are the things you get used to. What is beginning to piss me off is that I cannot remember a single thing about who I was before I got here. I know my name is Jason, I know how I died and who was with me, but that’s it. I am pretty sure the memory loss thing is another cruel trick of the Death Zone; I mean, why not, right? It’s still one of the most frustrating things associated with this hell hole.

“Theo, can you remember who you were before you died?” I ask suddenly.

“What’s that little man?” his voice filling the darkness in an echoey tone.

“Do you know who you were before you died?” I question. I hear him take a deep breath in before he answers me. I picture his face in that pursed-lip, deep in thought, brows ruffled kind of look.

“You mean remember who I was before this place? No, I don’t. I just woke up here one day knowing one thing, my name. I didn’t even know how I had died; that all came later. You were lucky enough to show up here knowing two things.” He chuckles.

“Oh fantastic, I got the full Death Zone experience right from the beginning.” Theo laughs at the enthusiasm of my extreme sarcasm.

“So Theo, are your Deathmares…”

“Deathmares?” he queries, cutting me off

“Yeah, Deathmares, you know, like a nightmare, but considering it’s a portrayal of how we died instead of something our subconscious makes up, it’s a real-life event shown on repeat as soon as we close our eyes, a Deathmare,” I say with a smile on my voice.

“Oh, I like that! Deathmare!” he says in a blockbuster movie trailer voice. As he begins to speak, the sky pulses red, quickly illuminating him. He’s stopped in place and is standing with his hands together out in front of him, palms facing out. When he says the word ‘Deathmare,’ he quickly slides them apart as if he is showcasing the word in front of him.

I chuckle and continue, “So, your Deathmares, are they extremely vivid like mine? Can you still hear, see and feel everything that happened to you?” He sucks in a breath, and it takes him about a minute to finally answer me.

“No, no, little man, they are not. Truthfully, I’ve only ever had one real Deathmare where I remembered the whole thing, you know. All I ever see when I close my eyes is me, well, my body I presume, strung up to a ceiling fan in a bedroom I don’t recognise.” The way he said the last sentence made my chest feel heavy and my shoulders drop.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry it went down like that.”

“Yeah, look, I don’t let it get to me because there is nothing I can do now. I’m stuck here just like you.” A pause, quick breath. “Jason, I need to say something.” Concern in his voice, brows furrowing, I can imagine. I feel a sense of panic wash over me as I wait for him to continue.

“What is it?” I say too quickly to sound casual.

“It’s just, well, I have never heard of people ever having such vivid Deathmares. You said you could feel, hear and see your accident? I didn’t think that could be possible.” He says, contemplating his words. The sky pulses a warm yellow, and I look over to him to see his head in his hands, rubbing his temples.

“Theo, what do you mean!” I say, trying to keep calm. “I thought that’s what the Death Zone was? We’re in some time-loop hell where we live out our days in some sick recurring nightmare. Have you never heard of it happening? How long have you been here?” My chest changes from heavy to hot in an instant.

“I have been here almost since the beginning. Well, no, since the beginning. I was the first.” He says, sounding embarrassed.

“The first!” I yell. “The first person in the Death Zone, and what, you didn’t think to tell me?” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air.

“Yes, the first twenty to ever lay foot in the Death Zone.”

“First twenty?” I ask, puzzled.

“Yes, I was one of the first twenty unfortunate souls who found their way here.” He says, sounding less like the surfer dude I’ve come to know him as and more like a frustrated parent telling their children to go to bed.

“Whoa.” I manage to stutter. “So, the others?”

“Dead. Finally died twice.” He says matter of fact. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” he says to himself.

“Theo, how long have you been here exactly?”

“Too long, little man.” He says. Why had I not asked him sooner? I just assumed he had been here a little longer than me. Maybe a few years not.

“How long is too long?” I press.

“Little man, why is a number important?” He groans. The sky pulses a light green, and I meet his eyes. He sighs a big dramatic sigh, slumps his shoulders then looks in front of him again. “Alright, alright, stop looking at me like that. I’ve been here for fifty-two Star Births.”

“FIFTY-TWO STAR BIRTHS!” I yell. I stop in place and stare in his direction.

“Jesus, dude, calm down!” As the sky pulses red, I can see him rubbing his right earlobe, still walking. I run a pace to catch up.

“Fifty-two Star Births. What is that? One hundred years?”

“Two hundred and eight.” He sounds deflated.

TO BE CONTINUED…

© Chapter One of Hereafter Written by Makena Darya

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