Atheos Ex Nihilo

Initially, there was just the coldness and the blank embrace of oblivion.

Somewhere behind it all was the pain, or rather, the memory of pain. But it didn’t seem to matter—in fact, the very notion of hurt seemed suddenly distant and almost laughable. Time, space, and the general pomp and circumstance associated with life had departed, leaving the same dull tone of absolute nothingness, swelling to fill the enormous vacuum in which no other matter existed.

Then there was the clearing of a throat, or something that approximated it, and the memory of Terry Hammond looked up.

“Well?” prompted the presence that was the only thing there aside from Terry.

“Well, what?” replied Terry after a moment. This seemed the only logical rejoinder.

The thing generated a distinct sense of urgency in Terry’s direction. “Aren’t you going to ask it? They all ask it. ‘Where am I?’ What happened?’ ‘Am I dead?’ Well, to save you the trouble, let me help out. You’re nowhere in particular. In fact, this is one of the few Nowhere-in-Particulars in all the universes. Consider yourself lucky for having found a spot.”

Terry blinked, or thought he might have. “But…”

“But are you dead? It seems sensible enough. That guy left you lying in an alley, shot twice through your chest. You bled out almost completely, and the guy discovered ten minutes later, to his immense frustration, that your wallet contains a net total of fifteen dollars and nine cents. He thought you dressed well enough for at least a grand.”

“I don’t use credit cards,” Terry submitted arbitrarily, several old convictions rising to the tip of his tongue like the sour taste of a meal past. “They just put you further into debt. That guy probably won’t even be able to buy a bus ticket home. Am I really dead? So…”

“So what now,” mused the presence expansively. “Ah, yes, the big question. What Happens after You Die? Thing is, we had a very tough time with you.”

“We?” echoed Terry.

“It doesn’t matter,” said the presence quickly. “Problem was, you were one of the only people left alive in the world who really didn’t believe in God or an afterlife. See, even the most militant atheists out there secretly harbor hopes that their deaths may lead to a second life of sorts, nourishing the earth and whatnot. You didn’t even go for that.”

“Well,” he offered uncomfortably, “it just seems that being aware of nourishing the earth is placing too much stock in the existence of an eternal spirit.”

“Perfectly sensible, really,” soothed the presence. “But, as you must have noticed by now, you are in existence somewhere even though you were just killed in an alleyway. What does that tell you?”

Terry was quiet for a busy moment. “I guess…that I was wrong about there not being a soul. So, is this heaven?”

“Nope,” answered the presence cheerfully. “Nor is it Hades, Shangri-La, or Valhalla. It’s exactly what you imagined it’d probably be: absolutely nothing. I told you, there are very few of these around nowadays, so count yourself fortunate.”

“But,” and there was a rising agitation in Terry’s voice, “if you can bring me to some sort of magical garden with golden fruit and complete bliss, why don’t you?”

“See,” replied the being, with the satisfied brightness of one who has had a point neatly proven, “this was exactly why I said it was a hard time all around deciding what to do with you.”

Terry mulled over the implications of this. “So…” he eventually tried, “Am I to understand that I must remain here, well, forever?”

“You would,” responded the being, “if you still existed in a temporal realm. Here there is no now, later or before. There is only nothing in particular.”

“But I’m aware of the nothing!” wailed Terry. “That isn’t what I believed, but it’s what you’re doing to me! How is that fair? What am I supposed to do here?”

“Be dead, I guess,” answered the being tiredly. “It’s pretty much what everyone does, in their various Places. You are, however, one of the only people on Earth truly lacking an iota of imagination, so, Terry, welcome to your afterlife. I hope you find it everything you expected.”

There was a change, and the being had gone. Where to, Terry wondered briefly. Who knew? Was the being God, or did he only work for him?

Terry supposed he had all the time in the world—which was no time at all—to ponder the answer to this. He wondered if he might get bored, but then decided that only the passage of time could engender boredom. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad. His afterlife was bound to cease at the End of Days, after all.

And, in a state of being where all points of time existed simultaneously, the End may already be at hand.

“This is my afterlife then,” murmured Terry, “and I accept it as it is.”

Then you have released your last mortal anchor, and you may move beyond.

Terry was gone.