A Brush With Death

What does it feel like to die? It’s a question all of us will one day find the answer to, but none of us will live to tell the tale. It’s a question I’ve been pondering lately, not by choice - I hate thinking about death - but because I’m forced to confront it every night when I fall asleep. For the last week, I’ve had the same dream every night; I’m walking aimlessly through the woods; in the bushes I catch a glimpse of the eyes of a mysterious animal staring into my soul. I unthinkingly run to it, but before I reach it I realise I’ve walked onto a frozen pond. I look around and suddenly the animal is gone, as is everything else; the frozen pond is now a frozen lake and there is nothing but miles and miles of ice for as far as the eye can see.

Realising my grave error, I begin frantically running back in the direction I came, but it’s no use; with every footstep I take I can hear the ice behind me cracking; the noise gradually becoming louder and closer until…

I’m under. The ice beneath my feet collapses and I’m pulled under the water with considerable force. Suddenly I’m metres away from the surface of the water and my feet and arms flail submerged as I try desperately to reach for air. When I finally do get my head above water, my relief is quickly dashed. I try to lift myself up onto the ice, but as soon as I do, the ice collapses and in a matter of seconds all the ice, for as far as the eye can see, collapses too and I’m left stranded in a vast ocean of emptiness.

I begin aimlessly swimming hoping to find land, but it’s no use; in the distance, there is only more water. My swimming, originally swift, efficient and underpinned by urgency, becomes slow and ineffectual; I find myself exerting more energy than ever only to seemingly make no progress, though it’s hard to tell at this point as there’s no landmarks to show the distance I’ve covered. I could’ve covered miles or just one hundred metres and I’d have no way of knowing which.

As I slow down, I become markedly aware of the bitter coldness of the water; it bites at every pore of my skin and a cold burning sensation runs through every nerve in my body. Beginning to succumb to hypothermia, I begin to lose feeling; starting with my toes and then my entire feet. Soon my feet become pale white and lifeless; dead weights that burden the rest of my person; like two bricks tied to my legs determined to pull me under the surface. Next, I lose feeling in my hands; all my extremities now just bloodless cargo hanging heavily from the fewer and fewer parts of me that still feel and that are trying desperately to save me.

Not before long, I can feel nothing in my arms or legs and my fight becomes futile. I try desperately to move forward by lurching my chest and head forward and back repeatedly, but it’s no use; I’m not going anywhere and no salvation lies waiting for me in the distance. I reluctantly accept my fate and take one last deep breath before slowly letting my head fall beneath the water. As I go under, I try not to look at the endless body of water but at the fat white clouds and the sun quietly peaking through from behind them. As I scramble to make peace with my sudden and brutal end, I try to remember all the beauty of this world and how lucky I was to be in it, for however briefly that may have been. Then, I’m under. I sink further and further down until I can no longer see any of the sky but just the stark blue of the water. As my face and head go numb and my brain begins to slow, the blue is replaced by a fog of darkness. There is no sudden flashback of memories like the movies always portray, but just a slow surrender to a black nothingness.

Then, just as the darkness threatens to consume me wholly, I awake suddenly; darting up violently from bed breathing desperately in frantic, short bursts. My ruddy, red palms lay trembling and my face, like in the dream, is a ghostly white; dripping with thin beads of sweat that forment on my forehead and quickly trickle down my nose and fall gracelessly onto my exposed, rapidly rising and falling chest.

I realise what I’ve experienced was just a dream, but relief remains distant. Suddenly, I feel violently nauseous and run into the bathroom and hunch over the sink. But there is nothing in my stomach to expel so I am left heaving and dry retching alone in this comfortless, white-tiled room.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the small mirror mounted on the wall and am taken aback by the starkness of my own reflection; staring back at my pinhead, contracted pupils as if they belong to someone else.

I run myself a hot bath, hoping to find comfort in the warm water amidst my cold, unsparing surroundings. I splatter bubble bath into the water, creating large, luminous bubbles and I submerge my body into it, as if trying to hide my more unsightly parts from myself. I drop my head beneath the surface and raise it slowly out again; basking in the autonomy I now have over my body in the water. I allow myself to feel everything fully; my extremities are no longer numb and heavy but float effortlessly to the surface; embracing every molecule of hot water that comes into contact with them. I lay back and close my eyes and make peace with the water. The nightmare may come back again tonight but for now I am safe and in control, and the water cleanses every fear I have. I look not to the future, or for a way out, but take comfort in the security and control I have in the present.