(Page 1 of 10) Frequencies by Marc StottSUMMARY: A different sort of fantasy about life after lifeOn January 5, 2004, at 2:10 AM, Susan Sumner died.
It wasn't a huge deal, she had honestly felt at that moment. She had watched quite placidly as the doctors worked on her body for a period of time she couldn't reconcile. She felt it was truly a shame, really. Her body, for the most part, was in good condition(though a little plump, she chided herself lightly, not that she could do much about it now, could she?). She had only been with it for 52 years (which in her opinion was still young) and now seemed far too short. Now it just lay there quietly, a waste really, except for her head, which was a different story altogether. Actually she couldn't really comment on the head too much at the moment. Her mind quietly flashed back. She vaguely recalled upon leaving her body that her head hadn't been that recognizable. If we could only do something about the head, she thought offhandedly, before lightly admonishing herself for such a crass thought. At the moment, she couldn't see too much. It was crowded by doctors and nurses trying to do their duty to bring back the vital signs.
What she did see was a lot of blood, and from here she could see her skull wasn't the right shape, it seemed almost dented in a way. She didn't remember much about the accident that put her in this position. She remembered that she was driving, and that child that ran into the road. She could remember the total lack of emotion on the child's face (God, didn't all children feel that they were invincible?) Cranking the wheel without thinking, she did get a brief glimpse of the tree that stood in her path. She had thought in an abstract way that the leaves seemed to be turning early this year, before the impact. That was the last thing she could recall in her now past life. Of course she hadn't been wearing her seatbelt; the one time she didn't buckle up and it cost her. Just like her life to do something like that. She felt some relief that at least the child was okay; she had seen her with her parents at the hospital. That at least eased her conscience. The parents felt guilt she guessed, the fact that a total stranger basically took her own life into her hands so that the child could live.
As for herself, well she knew for a fact she was dead, though it took her a while to accept it. The way the doctors seemed to be slowing down and drifting off one by one told her that they knew it was too late as well. As they walked away she saw the mess that was her head, and turned away, not wanting to see more of it. She never could stand that much blood, even in death it seemed. She focused on the whiteness of the room instead, and how everything was so sterile and clean. For a place that helped saved lives, it showed an ironic lifelessness to her, one she couldn't exactly place. Maybe it was while she was growing up, and hearing about all those tales of heaven, the whiteness reflected in the purity of heaven. It was the only thing she could think of for the time being. Her mind wouldn't focus on anything else, except for one concern. Her only concern at the moment was not for herself, but for her husband, James, who he could see through the window was pacing back and forth.
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