The Light at the End

Marcus threw the ball  up in the air. It went spiraling high above his head before peaking and tumbling back down into his outstretched arms. He caught it and threw it again, this time jumping with the ball to give it more momentum. It went higher that time, eight feet at least. Marcus threw it a third time, but held onto the ball too long and it went flying backwards into the street.

The boy turned and ran after it. He ran down the grassy hill and didn't slow down when he hit the tar. He scooped his ball up and turned to climb back up the hill when something caught his eye. A car came speeding down the road and then came the sickening sound of metal against skin. The boy went flying backward and everything went dark.

….

Marcus felt cold concrete under him. He opened his eyes and nothing changed, it was just as dark wherever he was. He stood up and took a small step. He felt something touch his foot in the dark, his ball. He picked it up and rolled it around in his hands; the rubber was cold.

Then he saw it. A small white speck of light. It was far, far away and looked like it would take forever to get there, but there was a light.

The boy, merely twelve, had heard tales of the light at the end of the tunnel. He had heard them, but always found them boring. There was no ‘Falling Action’ in the stories. The character dies and the story hits the climax, but then… nothing.

Marcus felt around for a wall and found it. Cold, clay, bricks met his hand and the boy followed them in the wrong direction, away from the light and deeper into darkness. He walked for hours. Just walking along the wall, clutching tightly to his ball.

It hadn’t hurt. It never really does. The shock of being dead overwhelms you and by the time you come to terms with it you aren’t able to feel anything, not really.

Marcus came to terms with this quickly. He wasn’t too sad. He hated school and his parents had always thought him a disgrace. And that was when they noticed him; it’s hard to see someone who is completely engulfed in the shadow his brother had cast. He had never made friends, for he felt that attachments only hurt you and people only let you down. He found that out when his dad hit the cat backing up his truck. Marcus had cried for weeks.

In fact, the only thing Marcus really cared for was his ball. Because his ball didn’t have feelings or desires. His ball would never realize that his owner failed at everything. It wouldn’t leave him for someone else. And even then, in the cold, dark tunnel it was the only one there for him.

After a few hours of walking, Marcus got tired and sat down. His legs were sore, but he guessed that was inevitable when you’re dead.

Marcus rolled the ball away from him, it bounced off the opposite wall of the tunnel, and came back. Then he threw the ball at the ground in front of him. It bounced up at an angle and hit the wall before flying back into Marcus’s face and hitting him on the nose.

Warm blood trickled down his face and dripped down into his lap. The glass in his spectacles was cracked and the nose of it snapped but either way the boy couldn’t see, so he tossed them aside in the darkness.

Marcus’s knees creaked as he stood up, pushing off the wall for balance. He headed farther down the path, blind but not caring. Occasionally he would trip, but he would climb back up and continue down the tunnel.

For miles and miles he went until he was too tired to continue. then he would rest, sleeping until he was well again. Then he would stand back up and walk. And walk. And walk.

Suddenly, after about two days of walking, Marcus saw a light; a light at the end of the tunnel. He sighed, exasperated, and continued to walk towards the light. As he got closer shapes took form and got clearer and he found that in death he could see even without his glasses.

And suddenly he found out what the light was, what it had always been. The tunnel opened up into a subway platform and on the platform, a train was parked. All it’s door were opened, showing it’s plush insides. It was inviting, beckoning Marcus inside of it, and he obeyed.

The inside of the carriage was beautiful. The red seats cushions matched the red carpet while it contrasted with the dark oak of the walls and benches. This was all lighted by small lamps protruding from the wall every ten feet or so. And sitting in one the seats was a man.

“Who are you?” Marcus asked.

The man looked up from his magazine and shrugged. “I don’t really have a title.”

“And where does this train lead,” Marcus sat in the seat across from the man, leaning forward to hear his answer.

“The train?” The man paused for a moment to look around. “Is that what you see?”

“Well, it’s a train. Isn’t it?”

To this the man closed his magazine and sat up straight. “The path to the afterlife looks different to everyone.

Marcus looked around the parked train, “Why isn’t it moving if this is really the path to heaven?”

The man chuckled, “I never said heaven,” He said with a wink and another chuckle.

“But we are going to heaven, aren’t we?”

The man ignored the question. “You asked why we aren’t moving? Well, the train only moves when it’s occupants are dead.”

The boy tilted his head, confused.

“It’s a coma. You’re technically braindead. WHich means you have a choice: Go back or die. What happens next is up to you.”

“I want to go!” The boy said it matter-of-factly, demanding to die.

‘Do you,” the man asked,”do you really?”

A splitting headache coursed through Marcus’s whole body and he slumped in his chair. He saw his hospital bed from the outside. His mother sat beside his lifeless body, tears streaming down her cheeks before dripping off her chin and landing on his chest.

And then the boy was back on the train, but the colors seemed duller, somehow, and for the first time he felt truly dead. The man looked at him, “Well, I think she’s noticed you, don’t you?”

And then Marcus remembered all the pain and hardship of his life. He meet the man’s eyes and spoke with a knowing tone in his voice. “How long? How long did it take them to notice?”

Now the man broke eye contact. He sighed, looking down at his lap, before saying, “Five hours. It took them five hours to notice that you weren’t home.”

Marcus nodded, knowingly. “It’s too late.”

“No!” the man looked up at Marcus pleadingly. “They’ve noticed you know and with a close call like this, they will never forget.”

Marcus shook his head that time. “They had their chance and they lost me. I’m sure whatever lies at the end of these tracks is better than a life like that. A life where your son has to die before you notice him.”

“But don’t you see? Not everybody gets this chance. And you’re gonna waste it?”

Marcus nodded again. The man sighed but the doors of the train closed and the wheels started to roll...