A/N, this was written, partially because I find the idea fascinating, and partially because I found a challenge over on hpff that was to write the most descriptive thing you could. So I wrote this. Do enjoy
The human mind is a wondrous thing. A solid mass of nerve tissue, nothing more, nothing less. Sixteen million neurons, sixteen million synapses, and that is all it is. A collection of atoms. If you were to pull each atom out, one by one, you'd be left with just a giant mass of carbon, and nitrogen, hydrogen and phosphor. But combined together it forms a grey, wrinkled mass that is the very basis of life itself. And enclosed within this mass of cells that control everything, every thought, every memory, every touch, every sight, smell, taste and feeling, but not actually a part of the brain itself, is another mass of cells.
This second mass of cells is surrounded on all sides by a thin layer of tissue, the same sort of tissue that separates the nerves of the spinal chord from the spine itself. Protective tissue. Separating this gland from the brain. The pineal gland-the name for this gland-has had a firm place in mythology. It has been called the third eye, capable of seeing into the future, and indeed, that description is not that far from the truth. In other animals, the gland exists as well, to serve as a light indicator, informing the animal when to sleep, when to awake, regulating the rhythms of the body.
In a human, it has a similar effect. It produces melanin, a common protein. Used in the regulation of sleep. It controls circadian rhythms, and affects the start of puberty. Except, however, in the moment before death. In that second before death, when the heart starts on it's last beat, when the lungs take in their last breath, when the muscles-all of them-relax, when contents of the bowels and bladder are spilled forth, this little gland, enveloped by the brain secretes another chemical – dimethyltryptamine
When this chemical is released, it floods the brain, rather suddenly. The effect it has on the brain is rather interesting. DMT-as it is commonly abbreviated-is a hallucinogenic drug, commonly occurring in other natural sources. Sources, such as the phalaris grass. It is a chemical that is traced back to many Central American shamanic practices because of the intense, profound experience that each user has.
All of this happens in the blink of an eye.
There is the saying that time flies when one is having fun. There is also the thought that time slows down in two situations. One is when one is interminably bored, and the other is when it seems everything is happening at once.
This situation was the latter.
He was sure that the last moments of his life were taking an eternity. He had felt the two fangs pierce his skin. He had felt the sudden rush of air into the skin itself. He had felt the hot blood bubble forth. He had felt it, with each beat of his heart, as it sprayed forward, covering him in sticky, red, wetness. He'd never realized just how dark blood was before. He'd never seen this much of his own blood before.
The floor was solid beneath him, it had surprised him that the floor held that well. That it was able to take the shock of a fully grown man falling on it with nothing more than a cloud of dust. Dust that tickled his nose, and yet he could not sneeze. He felt his fingers scrabbling across the smooth wood, rather against his will. He didn't know why they were doing that, simply that they were.
And suddenly green eyes were standing over him. Briliant green eyes. Green eyes that he would never forget until the day he died. He felt his lips curling up into a smile, but then a lock of black hair fell over them. Black hair, that wasn't right. It was supposed to be red hair. Hair, the color of the sky the moment before the sun dips over the horizon. Black, black was tainted, it was a tainted color, a pained color. Black should not be hanging over those vibrant eyes.
He knew what had to be done. He couldn't go without it. It was selfish of him to do this, and he knew it. Selfish to want to make the boy see his side of the story. He was doing nothing but redeeming himself. But he had spent enough of his life suffering for the boy, he had to make it known why.
Those who have dabbled with using DMT recreationally say that one of the most common signs of the come-up, the beginnings of a DMT expierence, or "trip" is a bright white light above them. And the urge to go towards that light.
He could see it above him. The white light, beckoning for him. So bright. So warm. So inviting. He could feel memories spitting out from him, and he did not know how to control it. The only thing he knew was this warm feeling. He was slightly afraid of it, it couldn't be natural. He felt like he was going to die. He knew he was going to die.
The ceiling above him was changing into a motley of colors. A rainbow, changing and expanding and reforming, and he stared at it transfixed. Gold, bright gold, so pure. And red-red the color of the middle of the fire, where it was giving way to yellow, that brilliant deep red with just the slightest tinge of orange to it. But most of all, that green. The color of grass in the park where they used to play. Such a pretty, pretty green.
A voice was rasping out somewhere. "Take it...take it..." It didn't sound very healthy. It was a gurgle, as if they were drowning. He supposed it would be a nice voice if it wasn't drowning. A deep baritone. But the gasping and the rasping made it rather less aesthetic. Someone should pull him out of the lake, or whatever he was drowning in, lest that smoky voice be lost forever.
They say that in the last second before you die, that one's life flashes before their eyes. Played back as if it is a movie. It is unsure if DMT plays any role in this. While it is a powerful psychadelic, all trip reports on the drug have mentioned everything but this phenomina.
He was vaugely aware, of somewhere in this mess of colors that she was there. She was all he could think about. The first time he saw her-that bright red hair, it had been even brighter in her youth, and those green eyes. Crouched behind a bush, leaves tangling in his hair as he watched her go back and forth and back and forth on the swings. Each strand of hair seeming to get caught separately in the breeze, fanning out behind her like a red carpet, leading up to the greatest star of all.
He smiled up at the image, but it shifted before he could stop it. They were on the train platform now, and she was sobbing, and he wanted to help her. To comfort her. The red of the train was the only thing he had ever seen that could rival her hair. He didn't like this movie. She shouldn't be crying. Those green eyes looked less pretty when surrounded by pink.
Then they were in school, the great stone walls of the castle, everything was happening so fast. It seemed as if they went from first year through seventh so quickly. He was dangling from his ankle, he was seeing the look of pain in those green eyes at the one word that had broken a frienship down. He had seen the eyes that had gone from shining brightly with anger one second suddenly become dull and shadowed the next with the muttering of one word.
He didn't want to watch this anymore. The movie was still playing, fickering around the edges. But he focused instead on the colors. Watching the gold move across the ceiling, and the red shifting out of the way before enveloping the gold. Watching the green pulse and throb, swirling through both other colors with such careless ease.
His eyes flicked back to the movie. There was a hilltop, dark, ominous. He knew this place. This was where he had turned to Dumbledore. This was when he learned that one man could not fix everything. It was too dark, the jet of white light was too blinding. It should have been a jet of green. It should have been a jet of green-a different green than the color of her eyes. a poisoned green. A sickly green.
He didn't like this movie, and he tried to not watch it, but he couldn't help it. There was the sound of scuffling feet, and he wondered where it was coming from. It was almost deafening. And again, the dust tickled his nose and again, he could not sneeze. He just wanted this to be over with. Done.
He watched as he found himself flying back to this place. He liked the flying, it was the one thing he hadn't regretted learning. It was relaxing. It was soothing. To be floating over a black sky that looked like painted velvet, looking down at darkened trees and streets with little lights lit, like stars below insted of above.
And then he was inside, the peeling paint staring back at him. And then there was the Dark Lord. Pale, with tough, leathery skin that seemed to be comprised of scales than smooth dermal cells. And then there were the fangs searing into him again, and he was back here, a plesant warm feeling spreading throughout and growing. And he was flying again.
As one dabbles with certain stronger hallucinogens, there is a certain phenomena known as ego-death. When one's mind becomes seperate from one's body. When the sense of self is completely lost. It is terrifying to those who are not expecting it, and is most often the cause of "bad trips" by those experimenting with psychedelic drugs.
He was so relaxed. So warm. So comfortable. Those green eyes were back again. He wanted nothing more than to see them. To stare at them. They were so incredibly transfixing. He could see each line in them. They went to turn away, and he found himself grabbing the robes, to keep those eyes there. To stare at them. "Look at me" The voice rasped out again.
The robes were soft in his hand. They were finely made. Even covered in dirt and ripped half to shreds they were soft. One of Madame Malkin's better cuts. They felt so nice against his skin. So very nice indeed. They went so well with this nice warm feeling that was spreading through him. He felt like he was in heaven. He certainly was no longer on earth, there was no way he could be on earth with the way he felt. It was as if he was floating.
And he could stare into those green eyes forever. They weren't a pure green though. It was a dark green, an emerald green as the base, shot through with streaks of gold here and there. Gold that sparkled in the sun. He had fallen in love with those eyes. He would give his heart over to those eyes. They were just so-he couldn't find a word to describe them. Not now.
The black hair had stopped existing. The signs of a tainted soul had stopped existing. Somewhere, he was vaguely aware of his grip on the robes relaxing, the soft material slipping through his hands, his hands turning a dark brown as the still-wet blood combined with the dirt on the cloak to turn it into mud. But it did not matter to him. All that mattered were those two emerald orbs. They looked so pretty above him. So shiny. They were like a mobile above a child's crib. So tempting there. So soothing there.
They were the only thing that mattered. He couldn't even feel his body anymore, and he did not care. He had the green in front of him, and the kalidescope on the ceiling. That was all that mattered to him. The colors. The warmth. He didn't need to exist anymore. He didn't need to have a body. He didn't want to have a body, it was only weighing him down.
It is speculated that the release of DMT is an evolutionary adaptation to ease the mind into death. There are noted effects-hallucinations, most notably color shifting-bathing the world in red, gold and green- and the shifting of the perception of time. Making it seem as if one moment lasts for eternity. It is speculated to prepare the mind, and the soul, for the afterlife, making the transition from living to nonliving as easy on the mind as possible.
He felt as though he was floating, higher and higher towards the sky. Towards that wonderful blend of colors on the ceiling. There was red. There was gold. And most of all, there was that bright vibrant green. He was reaching for the green. The green was the most important of them all. It was so bright, so important. It was the only thing that mattered anymore.
He just kept floating further and further up, until the green was all around him. Wrapping around him like a safe, secure blanket. Keeping him warm. He was safe in the green. He was safe. He was protected. He felt as if he were coming home to a place he had left long ago. And for the first time that he could remember in more years than he could count, he was happy.