VOID

Akili drifted through space, listening to the piano humming softly in his headphones. He had long since slipped away from his shuttle and had chosen to die beautifully. Around him, only the primordial darkness remained, and a silence as old as time itself. Far away, at the outer rim of the abyss, a single point glimmered: lost in the boundlessness, no larger than a grain of dust from the planet he had loved. It seemed to move toward him—yet how slowly it came…He no longer thought of oxygen, of the future, of light or warmth. He felt at peace here, just him and the piano, just the ten fingers that had given him so much joy throughout his life. He knew he would die, but he had made peace with that truth, as one does with an old friend. He closed his eyes and let his final dream unwind. The last one!

The plain stretched out before him like a colorful carpet, rippling in the warm glow of an invented sun. In the distance stood a small house, lost among layers of goodness that wrapped around him like gentle waves. Flowers and bees pushed him forward with a soft, comforting hum; pollen tickled his senses; the grass caressed his ankles; the wind carried him lightly, like a drowsy child. When he reached the gate, he turned into vapour: transparent, playful, trembling like a ray of light. He saw everything clearly, yet his body had become a creature of smoke, a wandering sprite slipping through the cracks of the world. He slid gracefully and generously through the rusted chain of the gate, easing himself through the old floorboards that groaned with time. A startled beetle sensed him, though it could not see him—its antennae stretched into the air, searching for an invisible danger. Akili drifted around it, watching with tenderness as it crept slowly toward its little home, its hidden family tucked safely in a dark corner—a place where, perhaps, it was happy and sheltered from misfortune.

In the middle of the room stood a chair. Beside it, an old table, its wood streaked with age and eaten by worms, like an ancient tree scarred by all the lives lived around it. Onto the chair began to settle, one by one, all the people who had wandered through his life.

He saw his mother, the dearest being to his heart. She smiled at him the way only a mother can, with a worry that softened her eyes and gentled her face. He felt her even now, like a breeze passing through his soul. A tear slid down his cheek—though he knew that sprites never cry. Then his father sat, the chair creaking under the weight of a proud, restless man. He had loved him in his own way—a way perhaps too rigid, too clumsy. They had fished together, played chess, swum, and run through summer rain—and all those memories returned now, arranged and gentle, like photographs of destiny. Next came his wife—the most important person in his brief existence. She tried to look serious, though she knew she was witnessing a farewell. They had shared joys and sorrows, had laughed at obstacles, clapped when things went well, and divided minutes of anger and hours of delight. There they were in their first kitchen, so narrow that they could only fit if they held each other. There they were in the hospital, sad; on New Year’s Eve, joyful; at parties, at funerals, at anniversaries, during earthquakes, at work, at school, in the pool, on mountaintops, in the car, on trains, on bicycles, eating, under fireworks, or in a boat and kicking leaves, going to concerts, playing sports, eating ice cream and roasted corn, doing workouts, and taking walks. Going to the cinema, speaking on the radio, writing, loving, kissing, making love!

Everything unspooled softly through his mind, and the piano kept enchanting him, as if the memory of the world itself were touching his temples. And suddenly... suddenly someone entered whom he had never seen before. She was also like a breeze, but fresher, smelling of crushed leaves underfoot. That was how he had once felt—when he was a child running through tall grass, among trees, on the damp earth after summer rains. She could see him; he could feel her. In her eyes flickered the reflections of all the beloved faces he had known—all the layers of his love. She was a multi-being, an echo of all who had shaped him, come to accompany him on his final journey. He opened his eyes and saw her enveloping him in his white, comfortable suit. She looked like a miniature Milky Way, a deep passion breathing beside him, seeping into his tissues, scattering his last fears. She stepped out of his suit and took his hand. She smiled and turned toward the point in the void, drawing him gently, like a dream, toward the beyond…