Walking on the Blade

I see a silver line stretching far to the horizon. Beyond the horizon, I believe, is the never-ending paradise of people who passed away, singing Hallelujah and holding each other's hand, under the blanket of air that is neither too hot nor too cold. A place where your family is not just composed of five to ten people, but is composed of everybody. A place where you don't have to hurry about the hand of time holding your back.

I step on the line. A sharp pain travels from my feet to every blood vessel under my skin. I can feel the blade cutting through the skin under my feet, until it reaches the bone that is slowly cracking open. I feel like hundreds of syringes are on my face, their needles stabbing my thin lips, the small bones in my nostrils, my soft eyes, and filling my whole head with boiling acid.

Looking down, I see thousands of floating corpses being washed back and forth by the angry ocean, by the red blood water. They are the people who had given up to walk one step closer to the Beyond, to the place they call Heaven.

I will never regret what I am doing now - walking on a Blind Faith.