I felt the need to visit my grave today. I’m lucky enough to have one. It has my name on it; the year I was born; the year I died, or will die. There are tricky problems when you pass through what, when the scientific jargon is suppressed, amounts to an eddy in the flow of time, and one of them can be learning that you will die.
People talk about their whole life passing before their eyes. My past, my present, my future, I saw it all before they pulled me back out, or after—it gets confused.
I don’t remember everything, but I do remember my grave. I remember the stone, one among many; remember the cold, it was winter; the grass had already grown over me. It was a lonely place, full of the dead.
I lost a friend today. Maybe he’ll come back. No one knows the day nor the hour. There will be no monument to our dead friendship, no stone to visit. There are many deaths one must die before one is buried.
Tale Told 