Beginning of the End

The first thing you remember about being dead is the noise. It's a loud industrial noise that sounds like huge gears grinding and dry metal groaning under tremendous pressure. It is the sound of the universe aging and beginning to fall back upon itself. The universe is a vast mechanical construction. Its architect has long since moved on to other projects.

There is a waiting room. The deafening sound retreats but can still be heard at a distance. The room is white and devoid of artwork. A woman sits behind a desk. She raises her head but remains expressionless.

There are three doors. “You have to pick one.” she says.

The doors are all identical, so naturally one must lead to Heaven, the other to Hell, and the third to some kind of existentialist void.

“Can you tell me where they go?” I ask.

“They all lead to your immediate future.”

Of course, I pick the middle door. Stepping through and flipping the light switch I find the other two doors lead to exactly the same room — a meaningless decision.

The walls are white. There is a black polished wooden chair in the middle of the room.

Eventually, however, the walls dissolve.

There is only darkness and noise. Somewhere below, there is the sound of Behemoth and Leviathan rolling in the blackened abyss.