Lazarus’s Story
At first, there was horror. But horror is a known thing. It’s a kind of pain, initially overwhelming. Almost unbearable. Yet it must be borne by the sufferer and a sense of horror in itself cannot kill. It subsides with reason. So as he lay still and evaluated and grasped, the overwhelm shrank. He understood. The unknown had intensified his dread, but by gauging his situation, he was able to loosen the grip of appalment.
The terror and dread lingered, of course. He was trapped and alone and would possibly die in this coffin-like space. But he knew this. The knowledge acted as a kind of absolute. It was more than a reminder of his continued existence and assurance that he was not yet dead. It was an insistence of it. At length, he gleaned the irony of the assertion. The fact he would probably die very soon was a vivid confirmation that he remained alive. And this truth dictated that hope also remained. Such reasoning was neither optimistic nor capricious. It struck him as a simple piece of irrefutable logic.
He screamed and shouted until his throat burnt, but he knew this confinement was soundproof. He worried about oxygen. Thought back to the thing’s construction and recalled that micro-vents below it allowed a tiny flow of air. If he was going to perish here, it would not be through asphyxiation. Terminal dehydration, he deduced, would end his life. Recognising this made him thirsty, but as the days passed, so did the feeling. Its absence surprised him. He enjoyed mild euphoria and heard himself laughing. Somewhere, he knew this was caused by a lack of fluids.
Thedelusions were harder to classify. Yes, he understood dehydration caused hallucinations, but could they also be attributed to a kind of insanity? The product of his abject dismay and helplessness?
He thought back to all the people he’d ever wronged and felt justified and wild, intoxicating righteousness. He had been consigned to this lonely, lingering death, which proved that any god or gods that governed our plane were not merciful, benign forces. They were like him. Self-serving and aware that cruelty is only punishable when those demanding penitence and reprimands are more powerful than those they seek to rebuke.
His sole crime, he reasoned, was letting the woman confine him. The events and sins that led to this incarceration were irrelevant. The people he had damaged were as inconsequential as the insects they had crushed underfoot when walking across a lawn, or the bacteria they happily killed when taking antibiotics, simply to feel well again. He had wanted to feel well. Their suffering had been a side-effect he could not be held responsible for.
He seethed about his victims. He regretted not causing them more hurt. He laughed. They were here with him, now. Jostling him. Tugging his elbow. Asking him questions. Apologising. Apologising again and again. He covered his ears with the palms of his hands and yelled at them to find their own coffins and he slept. Awoke. Became unable to tell which state was which. Until, eventually, the delirium faded. The hallucinations left him, as if they’d grown bored of his company.
And his clarity of thought returned. The old absolute remained. He was alive but would die. He neither embraced the fact, nor shunned it. He thought about nothing and experienced a kind of peace that reminded him of childhood and made him weep.
When the light came, it was immense and sudden. He believed it was death and met the sensation stoically. But aside from the light, there was cold air. He could feel it on his face. A form of passive interaction, like the way it made the tears on his face feel fresh again.
He blinked. Tried to speak, but the movement of his mouth pulled open cuts on his dried lips. He no longer understood what was happening and the old absolutes became instantly worthless. His instinct insisted he had passed over. He had survived death itself and—
Oh. Maybe not.
Someone was peering down on him. A woman in a mint-green jumper and cardigan and an akoya matinee necklace. Surely even the most unlikely god or goddess wouldn’t greet the newly deceased wearing a twinset and pearls?
Or perhaps it was time to radically revise his view of the afterlife.
He managed to murmur, ‘What is this?’
And the goddess smiled. And the goddess spoke.
‘Mr Gross,’ said Sophie Grace. ‘This is your lucky day.’