When I was very little I dreamt I was in a massive movie theatre. I was watching the events of my life unfold on screen. The “Me” on the screen died and the movie ended, so the “Me” in the theatre got up from her seat and walked out into the blinding noonday light. “I” was relieved that my life hadn’t ended, that it was just a movie.
This dream was my weird individual concept for afterlife for the longest time. I thought life after death was perpetual, like the reflection of yourself in two opposing barber-shop mirrors, extending infinitely. This idea scared me, and thrilled me a little. Now, my concept of an afterlife is that it doesn’t exist, it’s just “fin.”, “the end”, total darkness, and that’s kind of a relief. Something about infinity horrifies me deeply.