"Nothing" by Jirah Reckinger

It hurt so much. The seasons changed, the world turned, everyone grew older. It was as if I was a ghost. The only reminders that I was still human were the pale skin and bones that pained me every day. How I wanted to die. The days swam by. My head throbbed. I couldn"t concentrate. I couldn"t appreciate. Life was a mere memory hidden by the pain I felt. There was no end to it. I couldn"t feel the rain on my face or the wind in my hair. I was numb to my surroundings.

What was pain? What was life? Was any of it real? Was I real??? How could I be sure? "I think therefore I am" How could you be certain of that? What was the difference between being and being nothing? I was sure I was nothing. Noone knew me, noone spoke to me, I was a spirit walking among the living. I could have cried if I could remember how.

It hurt, but I felt no pain. I felt the pain, yet I felt nothing. Could this truly be happening? Was I real?

The questions swirled in my head. I choked with the pressure.

Mists formed, then swirled. My vision, if I had any, was drawn to a bright light to my left, if there was such a thing. A hand appeared and somehow I had faith in it. It was a real hand. I didn"t know how I knew. I reached out my hand to grab it, and I felt warmth flooding through my veins. I could feel my heart beat, I could feel a cool breeze, I felt the hand in mine. And I followed where it led me.