Chapter 1:  Rain.

What does it mean to die? What happens after death? Can it be controlled, manipulated, or foreseen?
What happens to us when we die?
The soft rain pattered against the window. The moon could barely be seen through a tiny slit in the clouds, and the bright rays of the hidden full moon made the sparkly droplets of the light rain glow in the night.
My room was dark. I could hardly see a thing. The only presence was my own thoughts.

I sighed and rested my head on the windowsill. What must it be like? To die.

What would it imply? Do we simply cease to exist? Or is there more?
I personally don’t believe in a heaven or hell. Just…. existence. Personal experience has led me to that conclusion. But still I am so unsure of what that even means to me. How can it be that I am so fascinated by something that may not even exist in this world? Although, his very presence is felt day after day by the whole globe.
What does it all mean? The puzzle pieces seem never to fit. But I guess, that’s just how it is with me. I’m a mix, a hybrid. I’m not entirely sure what I am. But one thing’s for certain: I’m not sure I belong here.

I let my fingers lightly stroke the glass as my eyes drifted slowly form the moon and to my own fingers, and allowed them to grow out of focus. The rain was picking up. Soon there would be an actual storm.
So I sit here. And think about this every night. Completely and irrevocably transfixed on this subject, and it never seems to let me go. It has hold of me; a grip like nothing else has.

Death.

That name repeats tirelessly in my head. Over and over again. I know not what it means, other than fervor. But what is love? What is it made of, and why does it exist?
The growing rain pounded against the glass in front of me as the first lightning bolt lit the sky with its brilliance.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

….who was that?