Jean was peacefully drifting off, sinking into his bed’s comfort. He smiled warmly to reassure the sobs that grew with each passing moment.

“Bye, Rachel” he whispered huskily, eyes finally shut.

The content he felt in this moment was euphoric. The feeling of love that wrapped around him was a blanket, soft on his skin, a welcomed weight and warm.

The man opened his eyes and he saw nothing, the space around him had no colour nor shade but it made him grin. He smelt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, tasted nothing and yet his euphoria was incredibly apparent.

“Wake up” a voice commanded coldly, dry but not, low but high, drifting along the nonexistent air but right next to him, a beautiful sound but so ugly. The voice seemed to hold no emotion nor pitch nor gender but still carried warmly.

That makes no sense, mused the man. Then again nothing does. But he was not afraid- everything felt so right (but so detached)- he knew he would be when he was alive.

Alive? The thought terrified him, so foreign and foreboding. He felt tiny in the presence of that horrible word.

“What?” said the man, even though he didn’t.

The voice told him that he’s now dead, even though it didn’t.

And the man who now held no recollection of anything thought he heard a laugh from his own lips though he couldn’t hear.

He happily thought about his new beginning- the beginning of an eternity in the out and thought how funny that the word Jean was so familiar.