Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate nor any of the characters that were created by those that make the real money. I do however own any and all characters/plots that are not immediately recognized as normal (i.e. Sheppard, Weir, McKay, etc…).
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Death's Not All It's Cracked Up to Be!
They say that in death you don't feel anything. They say that it's like floating on clouds, surrounded by the feeling of pure serenity. They say that all your worries evaporate and that there's nothing to worry about. They were half right.
The light at the end of the proverbial tunnel was dark. If it ever had been active and functional, then they had forgotten to pay the electric bill, because it wasn't on tonight. As my consciousness kicked into high gear, I became acutely aware that I wasn't in Kansas anymore as Dorothy would have said. I was floating in a black abyss and I couldn't tell my body from the encompassing darkness. Hell, I wasn't even sure that I had a body anymore. Damn, if this was what Death had to offer, then I was all for telling the big Man upstairs what He could do with his eternal bliss. I'd had enough, where was the exit?
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"Doctor, you have to stop now. There's nothing that you can do. He's been flat-lined for 30 minutes now. You need to call the time of death," the nurse morosely called.
The nurse hated to be the one to say it, but it needed to be said. No one wanted to be the one that brought reality to words. Each person, in their own way was hoping that there would be a miracle and that those words would not have to be uttered on this dreadful day. There was already so much pain, so much tragedy.
The inhabitants of Atlantis were so bogged down in despair that it clung to them like a favorite t-shirt - battered and worn - but comfortable and well liked. Death, hatred, loss, they were there everyday and the members of the expedition had begun to live side by side with these moral enemies in a resigned submission. Death was life's inevitable buddy. Since they'd arrived in this torturous galaxy, trouble had met them at almost every turn. It seemed that they could never quite get a break. Every time they were close to calling it a miracle they'd survived so long without a mishap or misfortune, a new and unforeseen tragedy would strike down another valued member of the expedition. Sometimes that member would get back up again, abet disheveled and a bit worse for the wear, but up none-the-less. But, there were times that the afflicted member stayed where they lay. And those times were becoming increasing more frequent.
The nurse's voice cut through the chaos that had previously been present in the infirmary. Her vocalization made clear the reality of the situation and forced those around her to stop and digest what had just occurred. The end result was a total 180 from the moment before. Movement stopped, voices silenced, thoughts kicked into overdrive - the infirmary went dark. The only evidence of life was the incessant whine of the heart monitor that had no heart to further monitor. How ironic.
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He hated this. No more than that. He absolutely abhorred this, but he couldn't for the death of him see the way out. His consciences had grown weary of the perpetual murky darkness and he had begun to visualize life. In his mind's eye he saw the people that he most cared about. They were all there. His parents, his childhood chums, college friends, work acquaintances, even the Atlantis expedition members joined the party for a bit. The miniature memories danced around in his mind telling him of past excursions that meant nothing now. He listened to them chat to him about forgotten memories and times not so long ago that felt to him as if they'd occurred a millennia ago. The more he listened to these voices of the past, the worse he felt. It was as if ever memory, every thought, every detail of his life were being viewed one last time while the director of this sadistic little film cut them out of the reel of his life. As each memory was snipped and fell to the cutting room floor, he felt less and less sure of anything. He had wanted so much to return, to go back to Atlantis and towards the hazy grey of life, but now it was different. He felt like Jonathon Brandis in the Neverending Story 2 where every wish hollowed out his brain until there was nothing left but the shell. As more memories fell victim to the editor of death, he cared less about what was before and even what was now. He almost welcomed it when the last memory faded from view and all that remained what the inky night that had always been present. Into that night he now floated, unaware and uncaring.
This is my first fan fic…let me know what you think and whether I should continue.