Before After — The Final Chapter

The sky looked odd. It was dark, cold and pleasant.

It couldn’t be said if it was dusk or dawn. Waves from the sea crashed against huge black rocks creating utter silence by their uproar.

He did not remember if he’d ever felt this silent while he was alive. Maybe he did. Once. But it was an entirely different setting. An evening from his childhood when his father got angrier than usual and shattered the house they lived in. The noise that day was as strong as the silence in him.

An abrupt cold patch of the black sands he was walking on, filled the space between his toes and distorted this image from his mind.

‘What place is this?’, he thought to himself.

‘It is called the Entry Point’, said a tall, strikingly white man who was walking besides him the whole time.

‘And who are you?’, asked Greg. ‘I am the ticket collector’, said Death.

‘I think I saw a weird dream before I ended up here. I saw a movie about my life in it. I was alone in a room with a projector and had to sit through all my sins, my virtues, my family, my friends, my fears, the failed ambitions, the achievements and much more.’

‘Your life passed before your eyes? The cliche´is true you see. You did not die instantly. After your heart ceased to beat and your lungs ceased to pump, it was your brain’s turn. Though it doesn’t live long without its precious supply of oxygen, yet it takes minutes to finally rest. Your dream, the movie, was the exclusive screening of your life in your last minutes.’, said Death.

‘Did everyone before me see their own, personal movie?’, asked Greg.

‘Yes. They all see their life. We talk. Then, they hand me the ticket and leave the Entry Point.’

‘So, now?’

‘Now, talk. Tell me what you feel about your movie?’, smiled Death as he stared down into Greg’s eyes.

Greg took a sigh and said ‘There is nothing to say. I understand now. What I was and what I should have been.’, looking back at Death.

He now noticed how Death was the only thing in that gloomy beach that was not dark but a rather clear and an oddly white figure as if symbolising what he felt, his clarity.

‘What is it an entry point to?’, asked Greg.

‘To the rest of your life.’


In your very last breath, when you see your life as it had been, will your story be completed. How will the pile of memories you take your final leap from look? What will you say in the last once in a lifetime moment of your lifetime?

Before You Leave

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