The last moments of your life are intense. On Earth, a strong belief is your whole existence replays in an instant, or the important parts at least. But what they don’t tell you is that only happens if you’re a lucky human.
What happens is truly dependant on nearly infinite variables, the placement of your particular star in it’s particular universe. The way you have been breathing for the last five years. The number of pets you were kind to, and the number of plants you happen to kill over your lifetime. The smallest things can effect your last moments, and many many things out of your control.
Maybe that’s one reason humans cling to stories. Everything is controlled, spelled out, literally. There is an illusion of order, a reason for the cup in the scene, or the hint of foreshadow in the face of a new character. Humans crave patterns, explanations. They were born with the hubris to name everything, molecules, animals, events, celestial bodies, all in the name of better communication.
What happens to some, in their last moments, is a uniform understanding of the universe. They see the chaos and natural order of entropy, and get a glimpse of everything they know going dark, just like their own universe will do one day. What’s fascinating is that some humans change this with their own filter. Some fill with despair, understanding coming too late to them, while are are euphoric, grateful.
It’s a personal matter, the end of life. Humans are singular in that they believe they are alone, during both life and death. Maybe they even experience their lives in a solitary state, unaware of everything around them.
No one is ever alone.