You knew when it happened that it was the end. Everything you’d hoped to be, all those things you wanted to do before you died, all of it was gone. All the promise of your life winked out in an instant, and why? it just didn’t make sense. In that split second before you became an obituary, you looked back on your life and-no matter how long you lived, no matter how much you had done-it wasn’t enough. So when that other part of you first came, you listened. When it whispered in a voice like water over tiny, polished rocks, you nodded desperately and agreed to anything, whatever it wanted, just for one more chance. And the moment passed, and you were alive.
But you were not alone.
After your near-death experience, everything changed. Your friends say that it was confronting your own mortality that made you change. They do their best to accommodate the new you, but sometimes, when they look in your eyes, they see a stranger staring back. Ever since the event, you’ve been a home to the other, bound to it like a spiritual conjoined twin. And sometimes, you need to step away from your old life and do what the other needs, even if it’s only to shut it up for a little bit, to silence the voice so you can sleep.