Realizing Death

"Where am I," Jon asked himself as he looked at the dark space.

Everything in front of him was an absolute void, and as he looked down, he was surprised to see his body had become translucent.

He put his hand right in front of his face and found himself able to look right through the light transparent hand.

As he is trying to figure things out, he remembers what happened before he arrived in this empty void.

It was like trying to recollect a dream that he had forgotten.

He remembered the last scene where he saw a car zooming at him at a speed he could not escape from before him.

As he was still in momentary freeze in the middle of the road just about to crash with the car, he could still see the frightened or perhaps a fearful horror on the driver's face in recognition of what he could hit.

What a silly way to die, he thought to himself in recollection of that memory.

The people on the side of the streets stopped in the middle of their phone calls to look at what was inevitable will about to occur.

Before he died, there wasn't any flashback of his entire life like people mentioned, but instead, as time seemed to be at frozen halt inches before the car hit his body, there was a beam of light shooting straight toward him.

For some strange reason, it was almost like the people around him didn't even take notice of the small beam of light.

It was like they couldn't see it.

That was the last thing he remembered before he arrived or, more clearly, awakened to this emptiness all around him.

He still could memorize that warm sensation as the light united into one with his body; it was as though all the fear and anxiety in his body had dissipated.

"Do you remember now? Your death."

Jon heard a sound that seemed to echo from all four directions around him; it was almost like he heard it telepathically.

Instead of responding in the sense of grief or sadness, he grinned and answered with a tone of acknowledgment, "Yeah, I do."

That life was relatively short, and he was just about to embark on another evening after working long hours.

At the same time, he didn't feel like there was anything to feel regretful about.

For some time now, Jon didn't think his life had anything worthy for him to hope to see, nothing especially interesting or worthwhile.

He was just an average guy.

From a young age, he had lost his parents, not in the sense that they were gone physically but mentally in the way that their presence was never there in his life.

At the same time, he doesn't have many people in his life he would call 'friends' because he always has a hard time fitting in with people.

"Your response is a little, should I say, strange," that same ambiguous voice in the darkness commented after a short silence.

He had a slight smile on his face after he recollected the memories or a short dream of what appeared to be a life.

"Well, thanks," Jon said, "well, I thought death was something painful when the car was about to hit me. At least you brought me away from what would have been a painful death."

"You don't have any regrets?"

Jon didn't answer immediately.

He thought about his sister, and maybe after hearing about his death, she would be deeply shocked.

He and his younger sister were so close to each other; in her kindness and support, he could find a little more strength each day to walk a bit longer.

Sometimes, when he's profoundly losing hope, he would stand back up, knowing that there is someone he could talk to for help and who knows him more than anyone else.

If he could wish for anything in the world, Jon desired, he could say goodbye to her before he had to leave.

Finding a tad bit of strength in his voice, Jon asked, "Could you give me the chance to say goodbye to one person before I go?"

In his mind were images of his sister holding onto his hand while he was on a hospital bed.

He couldn't bear imagining those tears that would slip down on that smiling face that he always remembers.

Anything but that.

"I can grant you that wish you desire or any wish," that voice answered him, "I can also grant you time."

"Time?" Jon asked back.

"Time, the one thing that makes up life, human memories, and used to discover meaning," the voice said, "trickles like sand, invisible, yet very much existing in your mind."

He remembers at that moment how his parents were always so hurried and lost in what seemed like a race in their busy lives.

"Tell me what you want," Jon answered.

He knew from an early age that nothing in this life in this world comes without a cost, a transaction that requires measurable sacrifice.

"You must help fulfill the inner wish of someone I choose," the voice tells him, almost like whispering a secret, "and I will grant you your wish upon completion."

Jon's face turned solemn as he recalled their conversation and tried to figure out what this mysterious being was trying to make him do.

But since he is already dead, what is there even to lose?

"I don't know what you are planning, but I accept your task," Jon answered with unswerving confidence.

After hearing Jon's answer, a tiny spark of light appeared in that space; it was not too bright but floating in front of him.

It is more appropriate to describe its form as a small glass fragment that fell apart from something broken.

"This is?" Jon asked with curiosity.

[Martial Arts Skill Fragment Detected]

Stretching his finger out to touch that shining bright spark, and when his index finger touches the core of that light, it rushes into his body and merges with his spiritual form.

After the spark fragment merges entirely with his body, he finds a new knowledge in his mind that is now a part of his knowledge that he knows as his own.

A surge of knowledge regarding martial arts entered his mind, integrating with what he already knew, and lastly became a form of muscle memory that he could instinctively perform.

In that single second, after he merged with that glass spark, Jon felt like he was somebody who had been practicing martial arts for more than ten years.

He knows he could match all the moves that he once saw fighters do in MMA fights fist for fist.

"It's a gift. I hope you like it," the voice answered, "it will help you tremendously accomplish the task you are about to set forth."

"Thank you," Jon said with gratitude, "what should I call you?"

"No need," the voice answered, "and for a name...you can call me Death."