When the crying subsides, she says, “We’re almost at the end, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Erin says. “But that’s not a reason to be upset.”
Erin has spoken with a wisdom Morgan has never attributed to her before. She was always the Block who had liked to run outdoors and now was confined to an over-sized room. She wishes she could have had at least one real conversation with each of the people around her before she started creating fictitious lives and personalities to each of them.
Erin smiles. Maybe she is thinking the same thing.
But then Morgan’s thoughts take a darker turn again. She thinks about how many Blocks she has killed in the past weeks, about how killing just one was enough for some people to say she would be spending eternity in hell. She thinks about whether or not she will see her parents again, see her friends again, or if everyone simply ceases to exist. How could you not be afraid of the end with all those possibilities?
“Listen,” Erin says, patting Morgan’s arm, “I can guarantee you that whatever is next, it won’t be like anything you’ve been taught. How would those people know what’s next if they haven’t been there yet?”
“But what if there isn’t anything at all?”
“If there is nothing, there is nothing to worry about.”
“What do you think happens when we die?”
“I have no idea. No one knows for sure. Anyone that thinks they know is probably wrong.”
“How can you be so calm about all of this?”
“What’s the point in worrying? We have all lived the life we had to live. What else is there? I can promise you one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll always be a part of you. All of us“—she motions around the room at the few remaining cots, but also where all the other beds once were—“will be with you. And you’ll always be with us. Maybe we won’t have another life, maybe we won’t have some kind of conscious afterlife in the clouds, but that doesn’t change what actually happened here. It doesn’t change that you did your best with the life you had. Maybe we won’t all be gathered in heaven. Maybe we won’t all be reincarnated as birds. But somewhere, somehow, the memory of you caring for us, all the times we’ve shared, of the people you loved before you arrived here, all of it will live on. Maybe it will only live on in diaries or in pictures, but maybe the essence of what you did here, of one person trying to care for everyone as much as she knew how, maybe that will live on forever in another form.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Anything is possible. It’s also possible that we’ll all be flying across the Atlantic Ocean looking for a place to lay our eggs, and I’ll look over at one of the other birds in the flock and know that I’ve seen her somewhere before, and that she was special to me then, just as she is special to me now.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know, but you don’t have to be. I’m here. We’re all here.”
There is always the same amount of energy in the universe. One form of energy gives way to another, but always in the same amounts. Science has proven this. What this means is that somewhere out there, the energy of her parents, her old friends, the Blocks she has had to sacrifice and also the ones who died of natural causes, are all out there. And hers will be there as well, soon. Maybe in the form of souls. Maybe something else.
In this life, the Blocks were trapped in the shells of bodies that were incapable of moving or talking. In their next existence, though, whatever it is, their energy will be just like everyone else’s. This is what she has come to believe.
Of the things she does not know, she is not afraid. It could be terrifying to think that she is utterly alone, the very last person in the world. There are millions of acres of abandoned lands, empty forests, cemeteries. There are final settlements similar to hers where the people have already passed away without anyone to bury them. But she doesn’t worry about any of this because she knows everything she has seen, everyone she has loved, is still out there somewhere, in some form. Maybe just a memory, but also, maybe something greater.
She doesn’t know what will be next. It no longer matters. Maybe life doesn’t start the first time you smile and end the last time something makes you happy. Maybe it isn’t defined by the first and last time you believe in something greater than yourself. Maybe life isn’t measured in heartbeats or curiosity or even in acts of love.
Maybe life is whatever you make of it.
“What happens now?” she asks.
“The dream ends.”
ACKNOLWEDGEMENTS
I am once again indebted to many people for their support: as always, Jodie McFadden, for her constant encouragement and optimism; Win Golden, for believing in my stories and for her endless advice; Derek Prior, for a great edit of the manuscript; Bruce Clark and Anna Stewart for their wonderful comments and suggestions on the story; and everyone at Authors On The Air, GoodReads, and in the BJJ and MMA communities who read my other novels and recommended them to their friends. Without their support, I would be no where.
Did you love The Hauntings of Playing God? Buy the other Great De-evolution books at: http://www.amazon.com/Chris-Dietzel/e/B00CC1GU54
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acknolwedgements
The Hauntings of Playing God (The Great De-Evolution) Page 20
