Disorientation
White... then nothing.
White and terracotta... nothing again.
Bright light. White, and bright light.
I'm coccooned here, somewhere, in this familiar space. But everything is the wrong way. I don't want to move. It's warm here, and safe. But when I open my eyes it is all wrong. Close eyes again.
Open.
So bright. It's the bathroom. But all wrong. The wrong way up. Like a camera left on its side. The basin's beneath me, the shower horizontal, somewhere in front. Towels above, levitating.
I notice the sweat from head to toe. I'm slick, wet, with sweat. I remember now, I'm sick. I must have passed out. I don't want to get up. I'm curled up in the corner of the room, on my side: foetal position. It's nice here, but I panic. I know I need to get up, even if I don't want to. A loud groan fills the room. I groan again, echoing off the cool white walls, struggling to my feet. Noone hears me. It sounds disembodied, but it is definitely me. I panic some more and get back to where I was. Back to what I was doing.
Once finished, I sit for a long time. Probably only minutes ... about ten, I think. I dry myself off: get rid of the sweat, which is cooling me now. I notice a bit of blood on my hip, where I must have landed. Later, this becomes a bruise. It is nearly gone now. There are others too, but minor. I am starting to get cold, and I need a shower.
This must be what it is like to die: you might feel really bad, or overwhelmed with a swirl of sensation and emotion: and then there is nothing.
Like an anaesthetic.
Only you don't wake up.
White and terracotta... nothing again.
Bright light. White, and bright light.
I'm coccooned here, somewhere, in this familiar space. But everything is the wrong way. I don't want to move. It's warm here, and safe. But when I open my eyes it is all wrong. Close eyes again.
Open.
So bright. It's the bathroom. But all wrong. The wrong way up. Like a camera left on its side. The basin's beneath me, the shower horizontal, somewhere in front. Towels above, levitating.
I notice the sweat from head to toe. I'm slick, wet, with sweat. I remember now, I'm sick. I must have passed out. I don't want to get up. I'm curled up in the corner of the room, on my side: foetal position. It's nice here, but I panic. I know I need to get up, even if I don't want to. A loud groan fills the room. I groan again, echoing off the cool white walls, struggling to my feet. Noone hears me. It sounds disembodied, but it is definitely me. I panic some more and get back to where I was. Back to what I was doing.
Once finished, I sit for a long time. Probably only minutes ... about ten, I think. I dry myself off: get rid of the sweat, which is cooling me now. I notice a bit of blood on my hip, where I must have landed. Later, this becomes a bruise. It is nearly gone now. There are others too, but minor. I am starting to get cold, and I need a shower.
This must be what it is like to die: you might feel really bad, or overwhelmed with a swirl of sensation and emotion: and then there is nothing.
Like an anaesthetic.
Only you don't wake up.