He sat within the bed.  There was a grey film over his eyes.  A curtain that was beginning to fall over a show that had run too long.  Within his thoughts there was much going on.  Things were being destroyed.  Universes were falling.

When he looked up at the light, the Atlantic ocean was gone.  It would never again exist to his universe.  It would never be imagined, never thought of, never experienced.  Someone walked in the room.  As he turned his head, the entire state of New York vanished.

It was his wife.  She was still here.  She still existed, although most of the world and some of the United States was already gone forever.

She held a damp washcloth to his face.  He thought about home, about his parents.  That place . . . Idaho, Boise to be exact, well 1134 Plateau Lane in Boise to be very exact, still existed.  It was one of the few places that still did.  One of the places that he still thought of.  That he would ever think of again.

His children were real.  So was the room where he slept.  The bed was there but who knew for how much longer.  Funny . . . every automobile had ceased to exist.  He would never think of another car, would never imagine, or visualize one.  They had fallen to the same fate as New York.

He sat up and looked at the walls of the small room in the large house.  They were white and very real, as real as anything could be.  He didn't want time to pass.  He wanted to remember more.  But the universe was closing and growing very small.

Over the next few hours it grew smaller.  It no longer contained anything outside the room.  He looked around.  Saw his wife and his children.  That was everything now: his wife, his children, one small white room and a bed.  Slowly, as things grew hazy, he forgot about the bed.

He held his wife's hand.  It was soft.  He loved it as much as he loved anything.  After closing his eyes, vision was no longer part of his experience.  He said good-bye to his children forever.  Shortly thereafter; his wife and her lovely hand were gone.

He was alone in everything.  His beating heart, his heaving chest, and the chill of sweat on his skin were all that was left.  It was so quiet!  The thump of his heart echoed softly in his ears.  It was going to be very quiet soon.

Most people would think the experience a frightening one.  However, since he filled everything, he made up everything that he knew.  It wasn't lonely.  In fact, the universe was so small that it was crowded even though he was the only thing in it.

And as it passed away, or shrunk away, it was warm and friendly.  It was not lonely and he was not scared.

And somewhere, not so far off, in a farm house miles away, a newborn's cry echoed through the evening air.  And as the child rose his head from a soft pillow and opened his eyes for the first time. . . a mother was created.
 

John Grace
MSII