????, ???? April, 1937.

???? Hours.

????

My first taste of death came when my uncle forced me to swim after throwing me from his boat at a young age when I didn't even know how to stay afloat. 

At the time, I was panicking, which is what most sane people would do in that situation. My young mind couldn't comprehend being face to face with my own mortality, and the prospect of having my finite stay in the world being cut short was anything but terrifying. I flailed, pawing my way to whatever I could hold to avoid my untimely death. Tethering on the edge of life and death by a simple mouthful of air or water. 

Isn't it grand? We are constantly balancing life and death, eating and drinking and working and mating, all to perpetuate a meaningless existence. We don't understand the absurdity of life until we are subjected to the prospect of nothingness, of not-existing. What life has value more than ours, and yet loses all meaning to us once thrown into oblivion. 

But now I have tasted death--I have met the dissolution of Ego-- thrust into a state of soulless entropy. 

Let me tell you, dear reader, that words fail to describe the infinite stillness of nothingness. With the death of Ego, comes true compliance with the universe. You become one with the primordial pulse of the universe, uncaring and unmoving from the musings of the individual pettiness of the human being. 

I was privy to the folly of war, of patriots and saint, of martyrs and traitors. All mixed into a flurry of dust blowing in the cosmic wind as eons of existence flashed before me. My words fell silent at the magnitude of existence laying bare in front of me, offering me the answer to my most pressing worry. 

Was I alone? 

And the universe answered back. 

I was not alone. I was one with it. One with you, and your father, and your father's father. And the sea and grass. Cosmic dust, a mere plaything of time. My worries didn't matter. I didn't matter. The mere concept of "I" melted away in the ebbs of existence. We all beat in one pulse, one people. 

And as I joined existence in its cold indifference, I was yanked away from it. Back to my aching bones. Back to the shackles of my flesh and mind. To the petty monkeys squabbling among each other for God and country. To my own personal hell. 

What brought me back was an overweight priest, standing above me with glowing hands, chanting a verse. His voice sounded far away, almost as if my head was submerged in water. My body ached all over, almost as if moving for the first time ever. I suppose this is what a new-born must feel like, coming into a world they didn't ask to be born, into a flesh puppet they don't know how to handle. 

"When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them, "Take off the grave clothes and let him go." Therefore many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him."

"Let sleeping dogs lie," I heard Torito say somewhere behind me. 

"I am trying to remedy your mistakes," said Father Maximino. "You ought to be sorry." 

"And you ought to be thankful the bullet didn't hit you," said Torito. "Be thankful he gave his life to you. It's almost like-"

"Don't say a heresy!" 

"-your own personal Jesus!" said Torito. I could almost feel his mocking grin. 

Another voice broke between them, one I didn't expect to hear. A dulcitone voice--an Angel's kiss. Lula. Sweet Lula. 

"Don't," she said, pained and faint. 

"Sorry," said Torito. "But only to you."

"You are a petty man," said Father Maximino. "I will pray for your soul." 

"Pretty bold to assume I have one," said Torito. 

"Javier," whispered Lula. "Not in front of me. Not in front of Sebas." 

I wanted to speak up, but my words didn't dare leave my body. I couldn't even find the energy to breathe. In fact, I believe I wasn't even breathing. Whatever energy I had came from Father Maximino's hands. The glow returned the warmth to my aching body. 

What I could do was open my eyes. Not that I could see anything beyond a blur. Vague shapes dominated my eyes, everything but the glow. It was the only thing as clear as day. 

"He is awake," said Father Maximino. 

"Like Jesus," commented Torito. 

"Javier," said Lula. 

"What? I'm just making a comparison. Are you awake, brother?" 

I tried to answer, but yet again, I couldn't say anything. 

"He is not strong enough to sustain his own life just yet," said the priest. "Don't expect him to be able to say anything." 

"But he is alive, isn't he?" asked Lula. 

"Yes."

I felt a big hand on my shoulder. It was close enough for me to see it was pale and hairy. "Brother, this is Javier. Can you hear me?" 

"I told you," interrupted the priest, "he can't-"

"Hush," said Torito. "Let me try this. Brother, if you can hear me, blink once." 

That, I could do. It wasn't easy, but I summoned enough strength to slowly blink."

"Oh, God," said Lula. "He is alive!" 

I felt another hand on me, small and frail, and warm beyond belief. That, or my body was ice cold. More the latter than the former. 

"He will not remain like that if you keep moving me, my daughter," said the priest. 

"I'm sorry, father. I'll be still, I promise." 

I blinked again, to let Lula I was okay. 

"Sebas, does it hurt?" asked Lula. 

I blinked. Poor Lula, she missing a leg and still worried about me. What was she doing here? Where was "here?" And how was the priest walking about after being shot several times by the Luger. 

But all I could do was blink. And not even blink properly. 

"I'm sorry, brother. I really am," said Torito. 

I blinked again to tell him it was okay. One thing you learn in the void was that life is too short to have petty squabbles. Whether I would trust him or not was a different affair.

"Let him be," said the priest. "He needs to rest. Leave the room, now." 

I didn't hear anything for the longest time. I assumed that the pair left the room, letting me alone with the priest. 

"I know you can hear me," said the priest. "And I want to sincerely say that I'm sorry with how things turned out." 

I blinked, if only to provide him some feedback. 

"This has gone out of hand," he continued. "We have no real way to stop the beast now that the coffin has been destroyed." 

I blinked again. 

"This town is doomed."

I blinked again.

"We are doomed." 

I blinked again. 

"And yet, you're still adamant to save the town?" 

It was a question that gave me pause. Why would I? These people were sending brothers, fathers, uncles to their death, for mere ideological reasons. We are all of the same blood, same flesh, same species. We were beyond saving. We devised nothing but oblivion. 

But for the same reasons, we had to press on. We were irredeemable, but we controlled our own fate, as petty as it was. I didn't want to help. But I had to. For Lula. 

I blinked once. 

"If you had said no," said Father Maximino, "I would've killed you right here and now." 

His hands began to glow even harder. I felt my breath return to me, flowing through my veins. My dead limbs began to tingle anew as their warmth returned with life. I was thrust right now to the world of the living, this time for good. 

"I'm doing this only because you risked your life for me. Not that it was necessary," said Father Maximino. "I'm a holy agent. I can't be hurt by the Lord." 

His hands glowed dimmer, until darkness reigned once again. And with the light dimming, so did the strength supporting me. 

"Welcome back, Lazarus," said Father Maximino as the last of my strength left me. "You have been found just. You have earned my mercy."