I lay on a dirt ground, covered in dried blood. I have my regular gear on from when I was at the front line. My vision is a bit fuzzy at first, with the blinding light and all. But my eyes finally adjust, and I see a white building ahead of me. However, I take two steps forward and I notice. I’m all alone. This place is nothing but desolate. Yet I see this little white building? DING DONG DING DONG! The sounds of bells frighten me, but I come to see it’s the white building.
Confusion over takes me. I’m currently standing two steps away from where I woke from. I am standing under the blazing sun. Yet I make no effort to move. Don’t ask me why I don’t move. I couldn’t tell you. Here I am standing. Alone. No one is here. Nothing is around. Just this white building with bells. Then, I decide to take another step.
I took that next step and I realize there is a cross on top of this building. Another step. I see a body nailed onto that cross. Another step. Then, I see it and hit the ground running. I arrive at this building and come to find out that my suspicion was right. This was my old childhood church. But wait. What was it doing here in the middle of nowhere? Afterall, my childhood church is in South Carolina.
More confused than ever, I step up the first step that led to the doors of the church. One step after another, and I find myself at the doors. I had a strong pull to what was inside the church. The doors were shut and you know what they say: Curiosity killed the cat. I barely touch the door handles and then the doors just fly open. They fly open so much so, I’m knocked to the ground which caused me to roll off all the steps I worked so hard to climb up.
Now I’m back onto the dirt ground under the blazing sun. I think to myself, “Is it worth getting up to get knocked down again?” But then I wonder, “What’s in the Church?” So I dust myself off and try to ignore the cries of my body. Slowly, but surely, I made it to the open doors of the Church. As soon as I walk in, I notice a slight change. My clothes. It turned from my old battle gear to a plain white shirt with plain white pants. Now, any regular human being would flip out right? Wrong. I was surprised with myself that I didn’t freak out. Afterall, I’ve heard of PTSD. Most military men have that right? No matter, however I am shocked with my calm attitude.
I sit down in the back of the Church, and close my eyes. It’s like I can hear the loud noises again. Bullet after bullet, death after death, cry after cry. On the front line, that’s all you could hear. Constantly in fight or flight mode. Obviously I was a fighter, I was in the front line for God’s sake. And I did okay, I mean I’m alive in my old Church aren’t I?
Footsteps interrupt my thoughts. The little pitter patter of children. The children walk in first. The little boys and girls racing to sit in the front of the Church. Then, couples trailing in. Wait. Wait a freaking minute. I know these people. Old friends of mine. And there’s my family. Ma and Pa, and Grandpa Jo and Grandma Summer. But why the long faces? Why the handkerchiefs? Why is everyone in black and I’m in white? Maybe if I get up and ask they can tell me what’s going on. I walk up to the front, and my focus is on them. I need to talk to them, it’s been a long while and I’ve missed them.
“Hey Grandma Jo! It’s been such a long while. How are ya?"
She doesn’t respond to me. I wave my hands in front of her. Nothing. I look to my Ma and Pa. I’m waving in their faces. Still nothing.
“MA!,”
I go to shake her shoulders. I can touch her shoulders, but it’s like she can’t feel my hands on her.
“PA! CAN YOU SEE ME?”
I start to run my hands through my dirty blonde hair. I’m pacing back and forth wondering: What is happening? What is going on?
“CAN ANYONE SEE ME! PLEASE!”
I am standing up front in the Church now. I’m in the middle front of everyone. Yet no one sees me. All of their focus is on something behind me.

Then, I see it.
My picture. In my military uniform. Right behind a casket.

This can’t be me. I’m alive. I can touch things. I’m here. Wait. If I’m alive then someone is obviously in the casket right? I’m alive. I’m not in the casket. This will prove I’m alive. I walk over quickly to the casket. I pry the casket open. But it isn’t opening. Out the corner of eye, I see my old Church preacher come to the casket. He says a small prayer over the casket. One of my favorite ones as a kid actually.

‘Remember your child, as he enters your Kingdom. Amen.’

My back is turned to the casket. I hear him open though. So, I turn around. And there it was. A cold, lifeless body. Pale as can be. And that body was me.