You Find Yourself Observing the Heat Death of the Universe

You find yourself observing the heat death of the universe.

At least, you're pretty sure it's the heat death of the universe.

Huh.

A Common Misconception regarding the Heat Death of the Universe:

The event is, in actuality, not supposed to be terribly warm.

Quite the opposite, in fact. Not so much fire and brimstone as infinite, absolute-zero darkness.

The end point of a universe geared towards expansion and entropy, 'heat death' is a term the point at which all particles become so distant as to cease interacting. Movement, life, light, change - all of these become impossible, forever. It is the conclusion of the universe's story on a molecular level.

And you know all of this stuff, for some reason.

And from what you can tell, you're watching it happen.

You do feel quite cold - but not, like, there-is-almost-no-molecular-movement-left-in-the-whole-universe-so-it's-nearly-zero-degrees-kelvin, cold.

Just, you know, fairly chilly.

There is no light, no air, no atmosphere, no gravity, and no warmth of any kind, anywhere.

Huh.

You conclude that some power, either magical or miraculous, must be keeping you alive in this placeless space - this timeless moment - this silent finale to everything that has ever been known.

Everything is dark around you - darker than a sensory deprivation tank. Pitch doesn't even begin to describe it. You almost think you can make out the faintest flickers of light, for a moment - the last stars dying, perhaps? - but realize that's nonsense. All light and warmth and energy must be at levels far below the threshold of human perception, by this point.

Your retinas must just be spazzing from the total lack of stimulus.

By all logic, you should be very much dead.

Wait a minute -

How did you get here?

You rack your brain, trying to remember.

Where were you before this?

Who were you before this?

Have you always been here?

Have you always been...this?

The faintest fragment of a memory descends upon your mind. Searing light, hard surfaces, squeaking and shifting and whispers...

It escapes you.

All is dark, here, and it feels impossible to remember anything but this endless...ending.

Perhaps the same untouchable power which is keeping you alive also brought you here in the first place? If, indeed, you ever were somewhere other than here.

Again, you think you can make out faint lights.

But the last stars have long since fizzled out. Even black holes lose their stores of energy, here.

Welp.

It was a good run.

...probably.

It's not as though you can remember anything about what you have or haven't done with your life.

Now that you're here, you find there is something strangely comforting about the end of all things. All efforts and losses, all failures and victories, all strivings and embarrassments are headed towards the same thing: sweet, thoughtless nonexistence.

Then, at long last, you hear something. Words. Garbled at first, but then...

"...so sorry...take all the time...unsure how much they may actually be able to hear at this stage. But do say whatever you feel you need to. They might still be able to hear it."

Then another voice. Closer. Softer.

But, unfortunately, unintelligible.

The details of the situation speak for themselves, now, though.

This isn't the heat death of the universe.

You must just be in the final stages before your own death. Eyes long shut, or blind with age, perhaps - hospital air cold and electric - mind already reaching for the end of all things.

Huh.

Easy mistake to make.

You make every effort to conjure up memories from the life you now know you are moments from losing - but still to no avail. Perhaps those will return in whatever comes after this long, numbing dark.

You just have to sit with a tragedy without familiarity, for a moment. It is a strange, strange thing, having a concept of someone else's sadness but experiencing total detachment from it.

Somewhere, someone is watching the life fade from a loved one's face.
Sitting beside their hospital bed, feeling their hand go cold and loose, watching their eyes go dim, feeling their breath go still.

It must not be dissimilar to watching the universe die, you think. You should know.

What's the difference, really, between the universe's passing, and a loved one's - the end of the whole world, and the end of theirs? They're the same experience from different angles, you think. And with that, you realize that your mistake - namely, thinking that you were perceiving the heat death of the universe - was not so silly nor preposterous an assumption to make at all.

You are not scared, facing death.

You barely remember the nature of your life.

Perhaps that is a mercy, perhaps a cruelty.

Perhaps this was a funny story, perhaps merely a sad one.

All you know, now, is that you simply cannot wait to see if things ever begin again, following the end of all things.