Breathe. Relax. Just Breathe.
And after this, there is nothingness, numb nothing wrapped around me like a skin, a thin filament across my corneas, my eyes are open but they only feel nothing. I could be as big as a planet or as small as an atom. I am everything there ever was, and nothing.
I open my mouth, and by doing so, I create inches below my chin. Undiscovered country. A fold of pink skin. Where my teeth were, there is only fresh, clean space, for the click of my jaw to echo when it closes. But I can’t hear the noise. There is no space for it to travel to my ears.
And in the distance of nothing, a distance that extends not out, but deep into myself, the bright, shining, white dot of a stranger begins its journey towards me, like in that old movie. And just like that scene, I wait out his entrance, the best in history, as there was none before him. Though, it will remain the best after many more.
When his is closer, after a long, extended millisecond of watching, a millisecond in which I have grown old and died, only to be reborn a thousand times, I can see his smile. His crooked, yellow teeth peering between his gums, the only yellow to exist is gleaming at me with natural luminescence. I lift my arm and wave, a short left-right, which creates a foot of exciting new black beside my shoulder. A new universe explodes in the space and millions of billions of new planets flash to life. They all take on the shape of the space, so that they look like pieces of a pie, with rounded tops and pointed bottoms. However, they will never support life.
The clean, old, man now approaches me with a swagger, his eyes locked to mine and I can’t look away. He wears a hat like that of Mark Twain, tilted on his head so slightly to the left, and his nose is bulbous after many years growth, to match his ears which sag at the lobes. His eyebrows hang loose and cover his eyes, which are two little full stops on his face, to stop his thoughts becoming apparent. And he speaks to me in a lazy drawl, each word leaning on the next for support.
“Are you all and nothing?”
To this I reply in the affirmative, my words coming from me visibly, so that I can see what I spoke. Y. E. S. In bright, capital letters, easy to read from a distance. They swirl in the air and dance around his head, making a show before sailing into his furry ears.
“Good.” He smiles, “Can you resurrect the dead?”
I take his withered hand and shake it.
“Only people I like. And I like you.”
When the words have sank into his brain, comprehension settling itself down, the old man twirls me in his arms as if this were a waltz and he was leading the dance.
“That’s mighty good for you.” He hugs me so tight as to turn my world white, and that is all I can see into forever and ever until I stop feeling his grip at all.
The horizon breaks, a deep line of black, a horrific crack in the perfect white of mothers milk, of dead skin. An ellipse extends from the centre of the black, arching out like a guitar string twanged, the black swimming out ahead of a rush of colours. The mousy brown of dirty hair, the perfect blue of the doctors’ eyes, the shiny silver of her medical torch and the red of her lips as she smile to see me awake.
We thought we’d lost you there.