He is afraid, anxious about his forthcoming death. He contemplates his demise while staring at the empty canister of unknown pills, trembling in fear and ready to look the Angel of Death in the eye.
With these terrifying seconds passing by, he remains unaware of what lies ahead at the end of this tunnel of long suffering. "Could it be God...?" he wonders.
This terrifying fear of God compels him to reflect and regret his life choices. "Maybe the science folks are right. How can there be any God?" he murmurs, his quivering voice gradually calming.
With each passing second, his emotions keep shifting. He contemplates what it feels like to die, imagining the pain one might endure.
Then, a strange sensation washes over him—subtle at first, like a whisper in his veins, then growing into an undeniable force. His limbs turn heavy, his breath falters, and his thoughts, once racing, begin to slow as if the world itself is pulling him into silence. The poison has taken hold.
Something is changing. The air thickens around him, pressing against his skin like an unseen presence. The room, once dimly lit, now flickers in and out of focus. Shadows stretch unnaturally along the walls, shifting as though alive, bending into shapes he cannot quite comprehend. A low hum rises in his ears—not a sound, but a sensation, a vibration deep in his bones.
His heart struggles, pounding one last frantic rhythm against his ribs. His vision wavers. The edges of reality blur. And then—nothing.
Or is it?
A weightless sensation engulfs him, as if he is being lifted, drawn toward something vast and unknowable. A force beyond comprehension tugs at him, unraveling the last threads of his earthly existence. Is this the end? Or merely the beginning of something else?
A presence looms—indescribable, immense, yet neither cruel nor kind. He feels it watching, waiting. The darkness ahead is not empty. Something is there. Something has been waiting for him.
And then, just before everything slips away, a final thought flickers through his fading consciousness, gripping him with a mix of awe and dread.
"What comes next?"
And then—
Nothing.
Or perhaps… something.
