“You’re going to
die!”
Although that
sounds like a line from a thriller, it’s just a basic truth that applies to every
one of us—barring some miracle of science or the discovery of the Fountain of
Youth. Despite its universal truth, death tends to terrify us. Although that
terror serves a purpose in keeping us safe, financing roller coasters, and
enriching authors such as Stephen King, it can also immobilize us, cause
depression and anxiety, and ruin our lives.
I imagine myself
being interviewed at age, say 102, and being asked to what I credit my
longevity. I’d reply, “My terror of death.” I believe it is terror that has
kept me safe from many harms throughout my six or so decades of living,
including self-harm—someone terrified of death simply can’t seriously
contemplate suicide, no matter how depressing life might seem. I also could
never bungee jump, drive at an excessive speed, take the quad up a steep hill, or
inject heroine.
Years ago, I wrote a
non-fiction book about the science of death, cataloguing my research
into the rational aspects of birth, death, reincarnation, alternate universe,
cloning, stem cells, the nature of time, etc. It was never published, but
remains a source of inspiration.
Now, I want to
write a fictional account of mortality. My hope is that my characters can
somehow uncover the true nature of life and death, a truth that has always
eluded me. I’ve started the book, but have been hung up for some time. Just as
in real life, once I needed definitive answers about death, the words quit
coming.
The premise of my
story is that immortal beings arrive on earth to study man’s mortality only to
come to the terrifying realization that they, too, are now mortal.
“You are going to
die!” some cloaked figure cackles from the darkness. “You are going to die.”
“Age-related
atrophy…” the medical report reads.
“Pre-arranged
funerals!” the ads scream.
“Senior discount?”
the teller asks.
“Nana! Nana!” the
grandson shouts.
“When I die, I want
you to…” the husband says.
