Realest

California, 20XX

The light beamed down on my face. It burned my skin, and blinded me when I looked at it. I don't remember anything. In this very moment, I am nothing. I am mute. I see my surroundings, but I'm not there. In a slow buildup back to reality, I hear a round of applause and laughter. Suddenly, I snap back to my chair. I'm sitting in a studio.

"Well, wasn't that something!" The host announced, "Lets have another round of applause for Terry Clix!"

The audience roared with clapping and cheers. The noise filled my eardrums like water. It was so loud, almost as if it was the first noise I had ever been exposed to. My blurred vision began to crystalize and I could see features of the surroundings.

I looked to my front, the giant audience. It seemed like it was an opera house. There were so many people. Some people were standing, and lines filled all the way out the exit doors.

As I look to my left, I see him. A fat smile on his face, and a nice 3 piece suit. The host. I remember somewhat where I am, but I can't be too sure. So I ask, "W-Where am I, again?"

The audience laughed.

The host turned to me and chuckled. "You're only in the worlds finest studio! Welcome back, how was it?"

Once again, I remain confused. I nod my head with a gesture of understanding. Welcome back? What happened this time? Was I forced to do a party-trick again? Make money out of thin air? Breathe fire? The questions filled and burned my brain.

I am scared.

"Now tell us," he says "What is being deceased like? You were gone for quite some time, ha-ha!"

Now I remember. The lady with the pink dress. She asked me to die and come back. She asked the question with a smile. She looked so innocent. Why would anyone ask me such a question?

I tense up. I don't remember anything. And I don't want to keep the audience waiting. After all, before the show began, the host asked me to be as quick to answer questions as a I could. Selfish bastard.

I manage to conjure up some lie to keep the audience going. "Er... Cold?"

The hosts face looked a little disappointed. "Well.. cold. That's something, right?" He said.

The audience sits in silence, waiting for more. They are all like eager schoolchildren waiting to hear when recess starts.

"You didn't.. see anything?.." The Host asked calmly.

I looked to the audience. They are waiting. Almost as if I'm the messiah, and I should be translating a direct message from God himself. But the scary part is, I didn't see a God. I didn't see anything.

I am cold, and I am scared.

I spoke up, quietly. "I..."

The audience doesn't make a noise. Not even the noisy talk-show host.

I look to the people. They want hope. They want something to believe in. And I'm live to over 300,000 people on television. What do I do? What if they don't believe what I say? What if they ask me to tell the absolute truth? I have no choice but to tell them what I saw. But then again, no one said I couldn't lie.

"I saw... a face..."

The host drops his smile, and in a moment of his own curiosity, as if the audience had vanished and it was just me and him, asked, "What.. face?"

I realize the sheer potential of the question, and the astounding effects of my answer. A cold group of sweat beads line my forehead. What do I answer? I had always been a believer in a higher power, a God. But the disappointment of my own realization had been swirling in my head. He asked me the question, I have to answer.

"..His face." I whispered

The audience knew. They were too stunned to speak. Even the host himself grew pale. They had no choice but to believe me. I was dead, they were not.

A couple of people in the audience fainted. And in a moment, soon, everyone was climbing out of their chairs to come grab me and touch me, as if I was God himself.

The Host dropped his act. And soon, everyone in the audience, and the host, were all trying to touch me, grab me, ask me where their families were, their loved ones, their husbands, wives, you name it. I answered every question they threw at me, and the answers I gave weren't the ones they wanted. I answered almost static, like a robot.

"Park Cemetery" "An urn in your fathers office." "Buried in an unmarked grave"

The audience was getting out of hand, and after a while, the crowd turned into a mob, trying to fight others to get their questions answered.

After what seemed like an eternity of painful questioning, the host asked everyone to calm down, and return to their chairs.

A sick feeling fills my stomach.

​

Atlanta, 20XX

I wake up in a cold sweat. The memory of that interview is far too familiar. I think about it every day. I have nightmares about it all the time. I sit up in my bed, and I wipe the sweat off of my face and sigh. What have I done? I could have just told them the horrible truth, but I didn't.

I get out of bed and I look out the window. The city is empty. It's a mere shadow of its former self. There are so few cars in the streets below I can count them with both hands. The sun is rising. I don't want to turn on the TV. I know what I'll see.

But I deserve to see it. I grab the TV remote on my nightstand and turn it on.

The static clicks on. And I have to change multiple channels to find one that still works. After about a minute of scrolling, I find it. The News Channel.

The uptight and face-lifted News Host speaks up. "More dead today as the suicide-pandemic has reached an all time high."

The words pierce my heart. It stings, it burns.

She begins to count the death toll. First the celebrities, then the politicians, and then she lists off the number.

"10,000,000 confirmed dead just this week."

I turn the TV off. I can't watch anymore. I deserve to die. I shouldn't have lied. The people needed something to believe in... not a reason to die.

The most selfish part is that I know what happens when you die. And I don't want to die. I walk to my closet. I look at all my clothes, my expensive watches and shoes. All these things. All these items. They mean nothing.

I watch the sun peak through the closet, and I run my hand through the sunlight. In a moment, I notice all my awards in my glass cabinet across from me. My trophies for sports, my medal of honor, everything. Anybody who thanked me for what I have done, they're all gone. I follow the sunlight to my window.

I look down at the city again. Cold, empty. And its all my fault. I see birds fly across my view.

I think there's no hope.

Should it be this way? Cold and Empty? Can I change it? Like I changed the world? Everything I've ever done, I've done it for the people. Why can't I do something for myself?

"Terry.." I say to myself.

What if it doesn't work? What if I die? What will happen? I've never done this.

"..Fix this."

​

The light beamed down on my face. It burned my skin, and blinded me when I looked at it. I don't remember anything.