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I was surprised, at first, to discover myself floating. Not falling, nor drifting exactly—but suspended gently and invisibly in a space I could not name. I had no body, no hands or feet; I couldn't even feel my breath or hear my heartbeat. I existed simply as awareness, a silent witness, watching everything unfold around me. And strangely, though I knew myself to be here, no one else seemed aware of me at all. It felt dreamlike and uncanny, yet undeniably real.
Below me lay the quiet halls of a nursing home, bathed softly in sunlight. It was an utterly ordinary place, familiar in its gentle rhythms and calm routines. I found myself observing with quiet curiosity and mild confusion. Why was I here? How had I come to this state, floating invisibly above everything? And why this particular nursing home, on this particular day? Such thoughts gently tugged at me but quickly faded, replaced by simple fascination with the peaceful scene before me.
The home bustled softly with the sounds of everyday life: nurses gently pushing carts filled with medication, caregivers helping elderly residents from one room to another, and quiet conversations floating like whispers on a soft breeze. Everything seemed tranquil, comforting even, like watching life itself in its gentlest state. The residents, their faces etched by the years, appeared peaceful, lost in memories or enjoying simple moments of companionship and care.
I noticed an old man, frail but smiling warmly, softly humming a tune from decades past, something vaguely familiar, comforting even to my invisible ears. Beside him sat an elderly woman carefully knitting a blanket, her fingers moving with practiced ease. A nurse knelt patiently beside another resident, speaking softly, gently adjusting blankets, radiating warmth and compassion.
Yet as I watched, savoring this gentle scene, I gradually sensed a subtle wrongness—so quiet, so understated at first that I nearly dismissed it as imagination. But the peace was beginning to fray at its edges.
In a far corner of the common room, an elderly woman, previously serene, rose stiffly from her chair. At first, I thought nothing of it—perhaps she'd grown restless. But something felt off about the way she stood so rigidly upright, almost puppet-like, eyes staring vacantly ahead. Her posture was unnatural, her limbs trembling slightly. I felt a ripple of unease pass through me, wondering what could possibly be happening.
Then another man stood, equally stiff, his eyes blank, mouth slack. He took a lurching step forward, knocking his chair aside carelessly. Others began to rise, one by one, their movements jerky, unnatural. A hush settled thickly over the caregivers, who now turned with concern. Nurses approached with gentle words, softly asking what was wrong. But the elderly residents didn't reply, didn't acknowledge them, merely stared with unseeing eyes.
Fear crept into me—a growing sense of alarm, confusion, and dread. My invisible self drifted lower, closer, drawn in as if by instinct, needing to understand. But understanding eluded me as the gentle peace of moments ago shattered like fragile glass.
A resident lunged suddenly toward a caregiver, mouth agape, emitting a ghastly moan. I felt the caregiver's terror as she stumbled backward, falling hard onto the tile floor. Others followed suit, becoming twisted versions of themselves. They moved like puppets whose strings had become tangled and knotted, snarling and grasping desperately at those around them.
I watched helplessly, stricken by horror. My floating vantage offered no comfort; it only magnified my sense of powerless dread. More residents joined in, violence spreading through them like an infectious madness. Screams and crashes echoed through halls that had moments before been so peaceful, now filling with smoke as fires erupted spontaneously, spreading unnaturally fast. Curtains ignited, spreading flames hungrily through rooms and corridors. The air thickened with acrid smoke and desperate cries.
The fire expanded rapidly, consuming the nursing home until it became a roaring inferno. Helplessness overwhelmed me, a deep despair settling into my very essence. I wanted desperately to intervene, to help, to do anything other than passively witness—but I could not. I was powerless, condemned merely to watch as tragedy unfolded before my very eyes.
Suddenly, my invisible perspective drew backward, rapidly ascending. From higher above, I saw with sickening clarity that the fire wasn’t confined to this single building. Flames surged through neighboring homes, businesses, entire streets, spreading impossibly quickly. Cars exploded, buildings crumbled, people scattered in panic. Horror expanded in waves, a dreadful realization gripping me.
It wasn't only this city. Higher and higher I rose, watching with horror-stricken awe as fires consumed cities far beyond, entire landscapes engulfed in an endless sea of flame. Nations burned simultaneously, the Earth itself engulfed, becoming a horrific beacon in the dark void. The entire globe blazed brighter than the sun, before shrinking swiftly into embers, and then nothingness.
But even then, the destruction didn’t stop. In terror and awe, I saw flames leap through the vacuum, impossibly devouring Mars, Venus, Jupiter, each planet bursting like dying stars into blinding heat and darkness. The Sun itself flared and then extinguished, devoured mercilessly. Stars beyond our solar system winked out, galaxies evaporated like smoke, the very fabric of existence consumed.
I was overwhelmed by incomprehensible grief and despair as I watched the universe reduced to ash, leaving me utterly alone in an endless, empty void. Darkness closed around me, silent and eternal, my mind screaming silently into the nothingness.
Everything was gone.
All but me.
