First thing in the morning, as soon as he woke up, he realized he was dead. He could not open his eyes, and he had no will left to move. His fingers seemed to weigh a ton, yet his mind was vivid. Consciousness seemed to remain alive and his soul lingered in his body. The sounds of sparrows vivaciously jumping from one unseemly branch to another, moving the leaves already rattled by the wind, were still reaching his ears.  He wanted to frown at these sky vermin disturbing his silence, yet all was in vain. He realized moving his neck was now an empty endeavor. 

This time he was really dead. There is a reason why we add the word ‘really’. However, at this point it was clear that his personal experiences would not help much with this situation. It’s one thing to think about death, yet getting used to being dead seemed like a different matter entirely. Uncertain who or what was it tat he could not bid farewell to… An uneasy knot appeared in his stomach. No, there was no knot. He felt nothing. Feelings that raced around in his chest and aggravated his body were all gone. Only the mind was still fluttering in its convulsions against the body, following an old habit. No doubt, sooner or later it would also be placated like a wild stallion being tamed. So, should a dead person not understand that after death he should not concern himself with matters of the living who remain behind? Surely, this is a queer feeling. One can’t even share it with anyone. Even when alive, who could understand you, let alone after death? He seemed to be getting used to this thought and gradually he calmed himself down. He started hearing whispers. 

‘Is he dead?’ This was the father speaking. ‘Yes, he surely is dead’. This one was the mother’s voice. Who but one’s own mother could know better? Only one glance would suffice for her to decide if her son is dead or not. The father was doubtful though. ‘Let’s make sure’ he said. ‘What if he’s still alive? Wouldn’t he be upset?’ He seemed to approach his son. His dead son thought to himself ‘Father will surely check my pulse or breath. I wonder what it feels like to be touched after death, especially, with my father’s long warm fingers’. His mother’s words snapped him out of this meditation. 

Even when her brothers died that woman never lost her calm. ‘She is probably just as calm now’ he thought. 

‘No need. Why don’t you just believe me? What do you even know about it? Instead, let’s drink a cup of tea and call for an ambulance. When they come, we will be way too busy. When will we get a chance to take a break, now that our son is dead? There will be no rest today for sure’. She truly seemed frustrated by this. He thought then that he died at such a bad time and felt guilty. Death, however, does not make appointments, nor does it call ahead. This would be the last time he’s being a nuisance to his parents. He really believed that. These thoughts pacified him a bit. He knew his parents were resilient. 

Death did not seem so foreign anymore. Death used to be such an inconceivable dread. Now, once he was firmly in the embrace of it, everything just fell into place. That dread was but a distant memory. Fear of death has made many a person knock on unknown doors and travel distant roads. That is probably because of our ignorance of the fact that death always walks with us. Who knows when death itself meets its demise? Perhaps, the answer will appear when the battle between fear and freedom finds its conclusion. He is most definitely rid of all fear now. However, it was not death that fetched him from the depth of fear, that’s for sure. 

As soon as his parents left the room and shut the door, a murder of crows landed on the same accursed tree right outside his window. He could not quite fathom how he even remembered the name ‘crow’ or the concept. When the crows got louder, he grew more agitated. One of the crows sounded too close. Apparently, the branches were not enough for it, and it sat right by the window. He tried to get a hold of himself and go on the last journey in peace. He said a prayer. Perhaps, it was not a prayer at all, but merely a long chain of words. He heard slow steps approaching his room. Suddenly the doors opened with a loud clap and he heard his mother’s anguished voice. 

‘Be damned, you crows! Such a racket you created, as if you’re mourning your dead. Can’t even drink some tea in peace! Alas, if my son were alive, he would not burden me and chase all of you away.’ 

The door closed once more. The crows, may they all drop dead, fell silent too. His mother was right, if he were alive, he would chase them away himself. Shame! Now he’s dead, can’t even move. His body is squished under heavy air that paralyzes his every limb. How he longed for his freedom. If only he could run after crows, or at the very least, move. What a heavy body this was! Did he even have a body anymore? These thoughts made him want to cry, yet he couldn’t squeeze out a single teardrop. It seemed all the tears and sorrows were dead along with him. 

Some noise came from the outside. It seems the ambulance arrived before his parents could finish their tea. Maybe they hit the door with their stretcher, there was some kind of thumping… A sharp cold voice followed the sound:

‘So, he’s dead, huh?’

Father and mother said simultaneously:

‘We don’t know. We’ve been waiting for you’.

‘Yeah, he sure seems dead. We will have to examine him anyway. Sometimes they come alive, you know. Besides, we’ll have to determine the time and cause of death’.

‘Well, of course. We would need that too to make an inscription on his tombstone’ said his father, rather flustered. His mother followed up:

‘The relatives will also ask about the cause. So, please, examine away.’ she said not being able to hide her hope. He also wanted to know when and why he met his demise. However, he kept his manners before the face of death, and kept silent. It was hard not to believe that he was, indeed, dead. He knew that if they doubted his death that would only create unnecessary fuss. So, he decided to preserve his deathly appearance with devotion. 

The ambulance delivered him to the hospital. On the way, although he was slightly vexed by the sounds of the traffic, mostly he did not notice how long the ride took. He was now in the morgue, and the cold was as mighty as hell itself. It seems there was another dead person right next to him. He didn’t know exactly how he knew it, yet he could feel that this person was also mumbling something and hurrying somewhere. He wanted to talk to this other person. What could he say in a situation like this? However, he did not have to wait for too long. 

After a while doctors, his parents and, judging from their speech, policemen entered the room. Everyone came in at once. A stranger’s voice started the conversation. This must be the doctor. 

‘It seems he’s been dead for several years. Everything is recorded and certified here. May he rest in peace!’ 

This is when his father started to speak. Although his eyes were shut dead, he could imagine that his father only uttered his words after mother urged him forward. 

‘Yeah, thank you… he has been a good dead person for all these years, and never uttered a single word. Or maybe we just didn’t hear it. (He remembered how much of a blabbermouth he used to be, and how he enjoyed speaking. Perhaps, his father in his nervousness just got it all mixed up, but…) Yet, he kept being there for us, and performed his duties diligently. He’s twenty-six this year. That year he graduated from college and started winning his own bread. Not long after we noticed that he died. We, the mother and I, have been dead for many years too. Yes, we have’ he finished his words with audible distress in his voice. 

‘I understand. We also sometimes forget when we died. I’ve been forgetting that day so often that I started noting it in my diary. This happens entirely too often. There are even people who don’t notice they’ve been dead. We’ve seen those too. Alright, please sign this paper with your son’s details of death. Here you go.’

As soon as the doctor finished, another voice sounded with a bizarrely inappropriate gravitas. This must be the voice of one of those police officers. 

‘Very well, we’ve compiled the doctor’s and your testimonies, and recorded everything. The rest should go swimmingly. Oh, by the way, may he rest in peace!’

Everyone dispersed. He hoped that his parents would read out loud the time of his death. But they were busy arranging the documents for taking the body home, and just left the room. He stayed in the same freezer. He thought long and hard, trying to remember when he died. It appears, he’s forgotten completely. Is this what that doctor talked about? Which day of which month? His diary wasn’t with him either. He could not even remember if he wrote down his death in that diary. 

The house was buzzing with noise all day, and only by the evening some peace fell upon them. There were still some murmuring voices, though. His mother entered the room and started speaking with a soft, kind voice:

‘My son never spoke a word since his death. (He suddenly remembered that since childhood he has been a quiet and even a shy boy.) His work, however, he always did very well. He took that from his father. Actually, no, his father is rather different. My dear son was the one who paid off all our debts, so we could live with no worries. Yesterday, before bed he said his first words in ten years and his last ones too. He said ‘Have a good night!’ We were so happy. I suppose, God saw how tired he was. May you rest in Paradise, my darling! We will follow you soon enough.’ 

These words made him forget all the other words. He stopped wanting to find out when he died. From his mother’s words it seemed he died only this morning. Perhaps, he’s been waiting for this all along. In any case, now he was at peace. Maybe he even understood that the force that let him out of the trap of crippling fear was hopelessness, this all-encompassing meaninglessness of it all. However, only God knows what was the link between this and the freedom that never ceased its fight against fear. 

After he was buried, his parents cleaned the room very thoroughly. They burned everything that their son ever owned. Then they hired people to seal the room’s door shut, paint it and set it flush with the walls around. 

‘Nobody should even guess that there was a room here once’ his mother instructed the workers.

Not long after the elderly couple forgot that there were four rooms like this in their house.

‘We’ve never had the joy of having children’ they’d say. ‘Look, all the trouble we’ve seen in our lives, and we ended up with this tiny two-bedroom house. We have nothing else. We are just a couple of lonely old geezers.’ This they would say to all their friends and relatives. They, in their turn, would say:

‘This miserable pair worked their tails off, and in the end they have no one to keep their fires lit and hearths warm. How truly unhappy they are! We did tell them, when they were young, that they should have children. Now look at them…’

In front of a four-story building a murder of crows sat on a short tree, cawing. Perhaps, only they remembered that there used to be a window here.