Explore "After Death" by Juan Rulfo on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I died not long ago. I died yesterday. For all of you, yesterday means ten years ago. For me, it's just a few hours. Death is immutable in space and time. It's just death, without contradiction, not standing in contrast to absence or to presence. It's a place where neither life nor the void exists. All that is born out of me, is the transformation of my very self. The worms that have chewed on my flesh, that have pierced my bones, that pass through the sockets of my eyes and the recesses of my mouth and eat at the ends of my teeth, have all died and have given birth from within their own bodies to other worms that have devoured my flesh that has turned to stench and that stench has transformed even the eternities into life's pestilences, into life's humiliations. But death has not gained ground. I'm here, surrounded by the earth, in the very spot where they buried me forever.
I don't have feelings. Only memories. Bad memories. Whatever little bit of good there was in me went to heaven with my soul, in the last tear to fall from my eyes.