Stare Into Space

The Rest Is Silence

Posted on | April 22, 2011 | 2 Comments



Not nothing. Faint and faraway, an electronic heartbeat.

Rhythmic. Even.

Then a voice, distant too, somewhere in the black. “…And then brain death will occur.” Sympathetic sounding; a nurse. I know it’s a nurse and I know I’m dying.

No idea how. Know it, just know it.

Suddenly cold. Not uncomfortable, just a tingling cold. Cold and calm.



A burst of white starbursts, a galaxy of brilliant pinpricks in the black and my body tenses, every muscle taut. A second only. My wife calls my name as the electronic heart begins a rush of bleeps.

White stars dim.

Thought fades.

Everything fades.

Calm returns.

My last feeling in a growing vacuum is that I don’t want to go. I’m not afraid, I just don’t want to go yet.

Everything fades.

Even distance fades.

Fades to nothing-

Less than nothing-

Fades to-

I become slowly, gradually awake in my bed-

My first feeling in a growing reality: “I wasn’t expecting that.”


That was my dream of last night. I realise, if I’d told you that upfront, many of you would have moved on to a blog that wasn’t full of waffle about dreams.  The thing is, I wanted to record it when it was fresh in my mind. I wanted to get it down somewhere as it was incredibly vivid and odd and weird. The muscles in my abdomen ached a little this morning, so tightly had they tensed at the appropriate point above.

The pervading sense all through was calm acceptance; of not wanting it but knowing it couldn’t be avoided. I knew what was happening and I expected the end (I mean the end—I don’t believe in an afterlife of any kind).

This latter point may explain my surprise at dying to find myself slowly becoming conscious in my bed.

I apologise for inflicting my dreams on you. If I die later on though, it’s going to seem really eerie, isn’t it? I could be dead now for all you know. Feel that tingle on your neck? That could be me.


Gerry Hayes

Gerry Hayes

I mostly sit around all day and drink tea. Occasionally, I write stuff and send it to strangers so they can humiliate me and deride my efforts. Other than the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it's not a bad life. Like I say, there's tea.

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