Death Is Free
by Phantazein Studio
He’s been waiting to be plucked from this veritable hell hole for some time now. What once used to torture him has now diminished to a humming nuisance. The stink, the heaviness, and of course the Heat. It smothers his body in its fervent vapors, incinerating his lashes and drying up the last trace of moisture in his throat.
He doesn’t know what the afterworld will look like but he knows he’s headed there soon. Their faces play in reverse chronological order in his mind, occasionally shuffling backwards and forwards as he searches his memory. Long gone friends, distant uncles, lovers, people he hurt, the ones who he left. He’s forgotten some of their names. Most of them disappeared before he could say his apologies.
He straightens the brim of his cap, his grey hairs matted down to his forehead in sweat. This must be a good time to make his peace with God, if it was ever going to happen. He can’t think of what to say or how to put it. His regret may count for something.
He waits with an uncertain expectation, not knowing exactly how it’ll happen. He looks up to the cloudless sky, the heat waves melding the colors of late summer. He’s up next.