Gone Cold, Sami Driscoll [pride and prejudice read TXT] 📗

Death, to the dying individual, is not an event. It is not an experience. It is, for lack of a better term, simply a feeling- an impression of an emotion, like when you wake from a dream and you're crying but you don't know why. That's it, that's death. The dream you can't remember.

Unfortunately, some of us just happen to die more than once. I know death is supposed to be THE end, or curtain call, with a fat lady singing and everything, but that's not always the case. People come back from the dead all the time, and a good thing too, because that usually means they weren't ready to die to begin with. I guess that's where I come in.

My death was unknowingly orchestrated by a single man who, for all I know, is now dead. That very same man would be the one to resurect me about five minutes later. If it wasn't for him, I'd be dead. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have died in the first place. You can see how this stirs up mixed emotions, or how it could easily tear someone apart. He was strong, but I watched it cripple him.

I was dead anywhere between four and seven minutes. I had made the mistake of excusing myself from the room before I died, a polite thing to do perhaps, but not helpful for the man desperately trying to revive me. He went looking for me when he realized it did not take that long to get some water, and found me convulsing, just around the corner of the hallway.

He told me that he'd never really been afraid of anything until he saw me laying there. He rushed over and tried to hold me still, but by the time he got a grip on me, I had stopped moving. He said that was the moment my body gave up, that was when my pulse faded. He said he could literally feel me grow cold.

He jumped to his feet to get the defibulator, realized it wasn't in his apartment, and raced instead to get the adrenaline. This is probably a good time to mention that the man was beyond intelligent. He had learned enough to become a doctor, classical pianist, a chemist and a lawyer, but had chosen to pursue a less traditional occupation, which warranted his use of random medical equiptment. That's as in depth as I'll go.

He wouldn't tell me much else after that. I can't honestly tell you if the adrenaline brought me back or not, because he

wouldn't tell me, he said it wasn't important. When he finally revived me, it was excruciating. I went from absolute darkness to bright light and pain, so much pain, that when I became animated, I just sucked in as much air as I could, and then I hurled. He said it was like watching the Exorcist.

I was conscious when he carried me to the other room, semi-conscious by the time he had found my other clothes, and unconscious when he stuck the I.V. in me. I remember brief flashes of his face, it was so twisted with sick concern, I think that's why I could sleep without being afraid. I knew he was watching over me.

After I got up to walk down that hallway, I remember that my legs stopped, and I sort of crawled a bit, and then I collapsed. My voice left me, I just gurgled when I called out to him. I saw blood drip from the corner of my mouth onto the floor. I was boiling on the inside, it felt like every organ I had was burning, but there was an unsettling lack of perspiration. I felt like dry tinder that had suddenly been sparked.

I remember I sort of flailed, after I realized I couldn't call out to him, that I couldn't move, that I was slowly drowning in a fire that had consumed my body. It was an absolutely terrifying moment of realization- to know that you're dying, and that help is just around the corner, but there's nothing you can do. It's agonizing. I had no choice but to slip into the encroaching blackness, because there was simply no escaping it.

My life has forever been changed by what was in the blackness. Not who, because there was no one. I doubt I was even there. There was the feeling, this unconscious tug back toward reality, like I was trespassing somewhere I wasn't supposed to be. Like it wanted me gone. There was another sensation, an ache, and that's the one that lingered. That's the one I still feel today. It's unlike any other feeling I've had, because it defines me. It leads to questions I don't have answers to. It makes me think about parts of myself and why I am the way I am, who I am, who I was.

It's the overwhelming feeling that I have been in that blackness before, but not as myself.

It's a feeling that could really change your life.

Publication Date: 01-03-2011

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