Endings

The brushed steel of Tom’s fixed gear was no match for the unforgiving face of the city bus. Hissing and screeching, the vehicle strained at its brakes, but it was too late. Tom’s groceries, which had hung from his handlebars, erupted into colorful fireworks, and his bicycle, no longer supporting his weight, conformed neatly to the bumper of the bus. His body soared forward, away from the shocked driver of the now rapidly decelerating bus, and towards a crowd of pedestrians, who watched in horror. As Tom crumpled into the pavement, his eyes blinked open for one last glimpse of his world.

1 - Consciousness

In an overwhelming rush of sensation, Tom felt. He felt the dreadful awe of the accident’s onlookers, the sickening adrenaline rush of the young woman who fumbled through her purse, found her cell, dialed 9-1-1. He felt the dispatchers resigned sorrow and the paramedics’ collected urgency. He felt his mother’s disbelief and anguish as she received the call, learning that, no, they had not been able to revive his lifeless body and yes, they had already called his father. His girlfriend’s tears streamed from her golden-brown eyes, and Tom felt these too, tasting their salt.

As night fell, he felt the wind brush the trees, moving their limbs in a slow and sensuous dance. Half-way around the earth, the rising sun bathed an ancient temple in golden light, and Tom felt the warmth of the stone. Many oceans washed upon many shores, and he felt their caress.

Tom felt, for the first time, the vastness of the universe.

2 - Imagination

The hills were purple, with yellow polka-dots. Tom flew above them, held aloft by wings made of bedsheets. Below him, prehistoric creatures grazed on patches of orange grass, and three suns warmed his skin. No, he thought, this is too warm, three suns is too many. The largest accelerated its descent, and dropped obligingly behind the distant horizon.

Tom landed softly at the crest of a particularly colorful hill, and wished for some company. A trapdoor to his left fell away, and two large antelope clambered out. He greeted them, and they lifted their front legs, shook off their antlers, and were now his college friends from years ago. A pool table materialized, and the three played game after game until both remaining suns had set.

He floated through the night sky, adding a star here and there to complete his favorite constellations. This was an easy existence, with no concerns except for the loneliness which grew more acute every day. Should he attempt to reconstruct the life he barely remembered? He had

3 - Thoughts

All at once, Tom was bicycling (as he had told his girlfriend), grocery shopping (as he had told his mother), and reading the Wealth of Nations (as his grandfather imagined). He was awakening from a coma and shaking his doctor’s hand, as the bus driver dearly hoped, and preparing a lawsuit, as the city’s lawyers feared. He did each of these things simultaneously, unaware of the others, and often transitioned quickly between one thing and another, or found himself doing nothing at all.

As the various consciousnesses which maintained his identity learned of his physical death, his day-to-day activities lessened in variety, and became almost entirely things he had done before. He often brought his mother a bouquet of twelve sunflowers, made animal-shaped pancakes with his father, and returned from a three-day fishing trip with his uncles bearing the single product of his angling. Sometimes he found himself in an idealized heaven, playing tennis with his mother’s parents, or speaking politely with a bearded man in a white robe.

As the years went on, he found himself doing less. It was often many days between events of consequence, days consumed entirely by empty darkness. Eighty-two years after the incident with the bicycle – he barely knew what exactly had happened – he gave the child with the tousled blond hair the last model train, and faded away.

4 - Nothingness