There were some sequels.

How could he not have them?

He didn’t remember how felt being dead, he tried. He did try so hard to remember and did try so hard to talk about it. People wanted him to remember, and wanted him to talk about – to show what was going to happen at some point.

How it is? Is blank? Dark?

He didn’t know, at all.

Sometimes, it was almost as he was there again, on the edge of living and dying, balancing on the thin line separating both states – one foot in front of the other, and every step calculated so he wouldn’t fall at any sides. He didn’t want to die again, and he didn’t want to live too much neither. Staying on the line was what he wanted. Just there. But he’d dream about one of the sides. He’d have nightmares about being dead, but he had no idea if they were real when it came to that 12 seconds when his soul was lost inside his body, scratching the surface of his muscles to give up and go away.

How it is? You have dreams about it? Nightmares?

He wouldn’t say he had nightmares.

Actually, he