THE LAST WORD

Somehow, I know I’m dead.

I never thought that was something you could know, but it just feels different. I can’t describe the feeling. Not quite a dream, but the memory of a dream. I vaguely remember a crash. Excruciating pain. But it was short. And it’s gone now. I look to my hands, but I can’t quite be sure they’re there. I don’t know if I’m stood up or lying down. It all seems unimportant.

All around me is darkness. Not infinite black, but the finite, comforting kind like hiding under a thick duvet on a cold morning. The black seems to have a texture to it. A weave and a weft. Imperceptible gaps in the fabric.

I lean in. Or at least what feels like leaning. The darkness becomes more defined. Specs of white become clear between the void and it seems that the black is formed from familiar shapes. They are minuscule. Compressed together. Line on top of line. I squint and cannot stop myself from reading, “…equal equidistant foods; a man, though free to choose, would starve to death before…”

Words. Not darkness. Words surround me.

From far off it appears to be a void of black, but leant in as I am now, I can read, “…Beatrice did what Daniel did when he appeased Nebuchadnezzar’s wrath…”

Do I know these words? Is this a test? Am I to read every word and only then secure my freedom? Or maybe they’re some sort of deeper truth, only knowable in death?

I turn and find another part. I focus in until once more of the words reveal themselves. “…stretched out his arms, straining to clasp her and be clasped; but the hapless man touched nothing but yielding air…” I remember now. I’ve read this. Was it at school?

I continue reading, “…tendrils. Level of. Could you send me the pics from yesterday? Yeah, sure thing. X. Inbox. Saudade, Alan. RE: Scheduled ap. Bill due GUST…” The words now seem nonsensical. The whole thing appears as a seamless block of text, but the phrases are like snapshots, incoherently strung together.

Here’s a long passage. It seems to be a story, but it breaks off midsentence. More snippets. I recognise parts of them. A name here and there. “…Old City. 40. MG5. 48. ROAD WORKS…” Are these road signs? “Hi dear, how is the course going?” A text conversation. Is this my mum? I’m recognising more and more. A book I read on holiday. A pamphlet at the dentists. Subtitles of a film. Words from a poster on my bedroom wall, over and over, then gone abruptly.

I pull back and once again all the text becomes a wall of black. Could this be every word I have ever read? Is it possible to catalogue all that? These words. They surround me. There are so many and yet it seems like so little. Every word of my life...

There must be a start to this. Where is the first word I ever read?

It feels natural to look up and left, so I do. I move what feels like forward and find a small white space within the black. To the right of the gap are the words, but to the left is white. I try to read it, but the first few symbols are a garbled, blurred mess. They look like letters, but they’re turned upside down, warped or have extra pieces so don’t seem to say anything. I follow the line and gradually the letters become more recognisable. Soon I find amongst the gibberish, “Car.” My first word. The text becomes the strange symbols again and then only the ‘car’ over and over for lines and lines. Skipping ahead I find the single words of a picture book I grew up with. Ahead once more and here’s a book that taught me to read in school.

If this is the start, where is the end?

I pull back. I turn around and search down and right and there again is another little white gap. I crouch and lean in, but before the words become clear I stop. Do I really want to know the last words I ever read?

As I think, my eyes wander to an earlier part of the wall, “…speaking or mute all comeliness and grace attends thee, and each word, each motion forms…” As I’m reading, out of the corner of my eye I see the white space move. Text is being added.

I read a little more and every time I do, more writing appears. Worry crawls into my mind. I have no reason to be afraid. What harm could new words cause? This text, this whole place was not threatening but interesting to me. A strange object, still and fixed. But objects aren’t supposed to come alive.

I try a test. I read a little before the end and find what I expected, “…the hapless man touched nothing but air…” The words I had only just read are there before my eyes. I skip a little closer to the end, “…speaking or mute all comeliness and grace attends thee, and each word…”

I pull back. What will happen if I read the most recent sentence? Perhaps I can create a loop, perhaps that would break whatever this mechanism was. As interesting as this is, I don’t want to spend forever rereading my life. Perhaps this is the only way to escape.

I lean in once more, toward that final white space and find, resting there, the little black symbols of the last text I’d read. There, I read the final word, “Word.” As I do, another word appears to its right. Being so close, I cannot help but read it. “Word.” Another appears and so again I read it. “Word.” And so again, “Word.” And so again, “Word.” I continue, “Word.” Until, all I see forever is, “Word,” that last word, “Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word.

.ANAX.