He couldn't remember the accident. He couldn't remember how it happened, or even what had happened. He remembered screams; he remembered flashing lights. He remembered friends. He remembered a car; he remembered two cars. Did the brakes not work? The lights had flickered violently. He remembered the sound of screams, of tires straining, metal crushing, of air escaping. Then nothing.
Was he dreaming? He tried to blink. He looked around and saw grey walls and empty halls. Was he standing? He couldn't tell. Could he speak? He tried to swallow.
He moved forward slowly, somehow against his will, but he could not understand how. Down the hallways, down the corridors. He moved past nurses and doctors, past people, so many people. Faceless people. He spoke to them. He called out to them. He had so many questions. He needed so many answers.
Why did no one notice? Why did no one hear his cries?
The panic overtook him until a spark flew in his mind. The dots connected; the questions answered themselves. And in a brilliant moment he understood. He realized what had happened. He knew the brightness and emptiness had taken him. He knew that he had gone.
All of it was gone. It was gone. Life.
Was there no heaven? No hell? Where was he meant to go? Why was he here, lingering among the living? He had reached the beginning of his end. But what happened now?