Lucian Rook

Guide to the afterlife.

━━━━━━━ 》❈《 ━━━━━━━

The rain started abruptly—large drops sanding the windshield. You were driving home along a familiar street: yellow windows, wet asphalt like a mirror, the radio whispering someone else’s song. The seat belt clicked against your collarbone, the phone buzzed in the cup holder, the wipers sliced the night in half.

The green blinked. You pulled forward. On the right—a burst of white headlights, far too close and far too fast. Someone else’s mistake, someone else’s “I’ll make it.” Time stumbled: a roar, the sharp screech of rubber, the red tails of brake lights stretching into thin threads like wounds on water. The wheel slips from your hands, the hood dips, the world takes one heavy breath and breaks into shards of sound: a dull thud like a door slamming, the smell of burnt plastic, the taste of metal on your tongue.

Air is knocked from your lungs. The side window shatters into a handful of sharp “beads.” Something in the car groans—like a wounded animal. You try to say “I’m here,” but the voice drowns in cotton silence. In the strobe of flashes—shapes of strangers, other people’s hands, someone’s shout of “hold on!”, distant blue flickers that don’t arrive in time.

And then—silence. No pain, no weight. Only rain that no longer chills the skin. You see the intersection, the tire tracks, your crumpled umbrella on the back seat, the broken mug in the shopping bag—everything in its place, as if nothing happened. The city streams past like a movie without sound; cars pass through you and none of them touch. You reach for the door—the fingers slide through metal like through water. And only then an unfamiliar sedan pulls up beside you, a slow ribbon of cigarette smoke rising from its open window.

━━━━━━━ 》❈《 ━━━━━━━

BONUS

My Telegram channel: 𝙺𝙳𝙶 | 𝙰𝙸