ATHEIST SAW ANGELS AND DEMON FIGHTING FOR HIS SOUL

Chapter 1: The experience of death I died at exactly 3:17 in the morning. The monitor stopped. My heart stopped. But I didn't. I used to be an atheist. I laughed at people who believed in heaven and hell. But while the doctors fought desperately to bring my body back, I was floating in a corner of that hospital room, watching something science could not explain. The room did not remain empty. The ceiling opened and I saw with my own eyes what looked like real demons battling angels for my soul. They didn't just want to kill me. They wanted to take me. And I had no defense. What happened during those minutes changed everything I thought I knew about existence. If you believe death is the end, you need to hear what I saw. It all began with a sound. The rhythmic irritating beeping of the heart monitor. I was lying there, but my body felt as though it weighed a ton, as if gravity inside that hospital room were 10 times stronger than anywhere else in the world. The air conditioner hummed overhead, and the smell of alcohol and disinfectant clung to the back of my throat. I remember trying to breathe and feeling a stabbing pain in my chest, an unbearable pressure, as though an elephant was sitting on my ribs. I wasn't thinking about a light at the end of a tunnel. I wasn't thinking about God. At that moment, all that existed was the desperate biological struggle of an animal trying not to shut down. I looked to the side and saw my wife's face distorted by tears. Her hand gripping mine with a strength I could no longer return. Her voice reached me as though she was speaking from the bottom of a swimming pool. Stay with me. Don't go. Stay with me. I wanted to tell her to stop. that it was useless, that biology was failing, and that was all there was to it. As a convinced atheist, I thought I knew what came next. Nothing. The brain would shut down, the lights would go out, darkness, no dreams, no consciousness. I was afraid, yes, but it was a cold, rational fear. I felt anger over all the unfinished things I was leaving behind. But I had accepted that existence was nothing more than chemistry and electricity coming to an end. Then the monitor changed. The Chapter 2: Out-of-body perspective rhythmic beeping became one continuous piercing tone that drilled into my ears. I saw the door fly open and a team dressed in blue rushed into the room. Cardiac arrest. Bring the crash cart. Someone shouted. I felt violent movement in my chest, hands pressing down on me, tearing open my hospital gown. But strangely, the pain began to recede. Not because I was getting better, because I was becoming distant from it. The physical agony was replaced by an intense tingling that began in my feet and rapidly moved upward like a freezing anesthetic spreading through my body. And then the impossible happened. In the blink of an eye, the piercing sound stopped. The weight disappeared. I took a deep breath and the air entered my lungs cleanly without pain. I opened my eyes and felt incredibly light, weightless. I tried to sit up and to my surprise, I simply floated. It required no effort at all. I looked at my hands. They seemed translucent, vibrating at some strange frequency. Then I turned my head. The shock was devastating. I saw a man lying on the bed pale. His mouth hanging open, his eyes glazed over while doctors worked frantically over him performing CPR. It took several seconds or what felt like several seconds for me to process the grotesque image. That man on the bed was me. I could see the bald spot on the crown of my head. The scar on my shoulder from when I was a child. My rational mind, the part of me I had always valued above everything else, collapsed. This is a hallucination caused by cereble hypoxia. I thought I tried to rationalize it. I tried to convince myself that these were simply the last neurons firing before the brain finally died, but the clarity was absolute. I could see dust on the medicine cabinet. I could see the clock on the wall showing 317 in the morning. I was more lucid than I had ever been in my entire life. I shouted at my wife, "Hey, I'm here. I'm okay." She didn't look at me. She was still crying beside the empty shell I had apparently left behind. I reached out and tried to touch the doctor's shoulder, hoping to make him stop pounding on my chest. My hand passed straight through him as though he was smoke. That was when the real terror hit me, not the fear of dying, the fear of continuing. If I was there watching all of this, then I had been wrong about everything. If there was no afterlife, where was I? The room began to change. Chapter 3: A shift in reality The fluorescent lights seemed to weaken as though a gray mist were leaking through the corners of the ceiling and floor. The sounds of the doctors became distant and metallic. A heavy oppressive silence began filling the room. It wasn't peaceful. It was the sensation of being watched. I felt a chill that wasn't physical. It was a chill in my soul. Something was the with me, something that wasn't my wife, something that wasn't the doctors. And I, the man who had spent his entire life mocking everything he couldn't touch, suddenly felt the presence of something I had no tools to explain. For 40 years, I had argued against faith. I had mocked it. I used to say with complete confidence that death was simply the end of the tape, the electricity being switched off. But there I was, floating in the corner of that cold hospital room, and all my intellectual arrogance dissolved like dust in the wind. There were no equations, no books, no theories capable of explaining what I was experiencing. My consciousness wasn't fading. It was expanding. I could see in every direction at once. I could hear fragments of thoughts. I could feel the vibrations of the machines. The truth seemed to be staring directly at me. I wasn't my brain. I was something my brain had been desperately trying to translate. And that discovery didn't bring me peace. It brought absolute panic. I looked again at the body lying on the bed. It was horrifying to see myself from the outside. That body looked like old clothing, a suit of flesh discarded after a long day. How could I have spent 40 years believing that was all I was? I remembered every time I had called religious friends weak because they needed an imaginary friend to cope with life. The irony tasted bitter. That invisible being was the only thing that seemed real now. And I, the great skeptic, the great thinker, was the ignorant one. I felt small, like a lost child in a dark place. Realizing that the map I had clung to my entire life was wrong, I tried to move. I wanted to leave the room, to escape into the hallway, to find sunlight, anything 8 minutesfamiliar. But I was trapped, not by physical walls, but by a strange density in the air. The atmosphere itself began to change texture. The white hospital walls didn't disappear, but they seemed to become transparent. Behind them, another reality began bleeding through like dark ink spreading through water. It was as if someone had turned down the saturation of the world. Grayness swallowed everything. And with the gray came a cold that didn't make my teeth chatter. It froze hope. It paralyzed my will. Wake up. This is a dream. Wake up. I screamed at myself. But my voice made no sound. It simply echoed inside my mind. Yet the clarity was terrifying. There was none of the instability of a dream. In dreams, details disappear when you try to focus on them. Here, they became sharper. I could see the frayed stitching on the nurse's gown. I could see an old coffee stain on the floor near the baseboard that nobody had cleaned. It was too real. Hyper real. Denial. My old friend tried one last time to protect me. It's DMT. It's endorphins. It's the dying brain. But deep down, I already knew. Biology was still lying on the bed. The thing trembling in terror in that corner was me, the real me. And then the weight of my life fell upon me. I didn't see a movie playing rapidly through my mind. Instead, I felt the emotional weight of my choices, the pride, the arrogance, the deliberate rejection of anything sacred. I had bet everything on the idea of nothingness. And now that nothingness wasn't coming, I was completely defenseless. I had no one to call for help. Who does an atheist cry out to when death isn't the end? I felt naked, exposed, completely vulnerable before a universe I had always insisted was indifferent, but which now seemed alive, conscious, and aware of me. Then the feeling of being watched changed. Suddenly I felt hunted. The air became viscous, heavy as lead. The shadows in the corners of the room, those ordinary shadows people usually ignore, began stretching and moving. They detached themselves from the walls. They weren't the absence of light. They were presences. I smelled something rotten. A sickly sweet stench like meat left in the sun mixed with sulfur and something burnt. Every instinct inside me screamed danger with a force I had never experienced in life. Something terrible had entered that room. And I knew it wasn't there for the doctors. It was there for me. The ceiling of the hospital room began to disappear. Not as though someone had removed it. It was as Chapter 4: Spiritual battle begins if solid matter itself were dissolving into a living darkness. The shadows in the corners became solid. What I saw made me recoil, shrinking against the cold wall. They weren't the red porn demons from medieval paintings, the kind I had always mocked. They were masses of dense darkness, their contours twisting like boiling tar. They didn't walk. They slid. They crawled across the walls and ceiling like enormous intelligent insects. The sound they made was a low hiss, like static from a radio tuned between stations, but somehow it scratched at the inside of my skull. Then, from the opposite side of the room, something answered. The space above my bed tore open. There were no trumpets. Instead, a vibration passed through everything, making my spiritual teeth. A white light tinged with gold and electric blue poured into the room. It wasn't the diffuse light of a lamp. It was solid, heavy, almost liquid. It sliced through the gray mist like a laser. Wherever it touched, the stench of decay vanished, replaced by the smell of ozone and clean air after a thunderstorm. That sterile hospital room, the ultimate symbol of science and medicine, has become a battlefield between dimensions. Below, I watched the doctors working on my body. They were sweating, shouting medical jargon, adrenaline, another dose. They were fighting against biology. But above their heads, invisible to human eyes, titans were taking their positions. figures descended from the golden light. They were tall and imposing, made of something that looked like woven fire. They didn't have the gentle faces of cherabs from religious paintings. They stood like elite soldiers, tense and prepared for battle. Their presence radiated an authority that made me want to fall to my knees. Even though I no longer had a physical body, the fear they inspired was different from the fear caused by the darkness. When I looked at the shadows, I felt icy terror, a promise of eternal pain and isolation. Those creatures radiated pure hatred, not furious hatred, hungry hatred. They wanted me. I could feel their desire pulling at my essence like a magnet. But when I looked at the beings of light, the emotion was different. It was all reverence, a crushing awareness of my own unworthiness. 14 minutesI felt filthy in the presence of that blazing purity. What is happening? I thought this can't be real. But the reality of it was more solid than the hospital floor. The room seemed to divide in two. An invisible boundary Chapter 5: Torn between two worlds formed above my deathbed. On one side, the darkness advanced, hissing and snapping, trying to reach my lifeless body, and more importantly, the consciousness hovering nearby. On the other, a wall of light kept them back, crackling like a high voltage electric fence whenever the darkness tried to cross it. I was caught in the middle. I, the man who had spent his life saying that morality was a social invention, that good and evil were relative, was watching what seemed to be absolute good and absolute evil materialize a few feet from me. It was a silent cacophony. The doctors couldn't hear it. My wife couldn't hear it, but to me, the noise was deafening. Muffled screams came from the shadows. A powerful, harmonious hum came from the light. And the worst part was that they weren't fighting over territory. They weren't fighting over politics. They weren't even fighting over religion. They were fighting over me. That atheist, skeptical, proud soul was the prize. For the first time, I understood. I wasn't a spectator. I was the target. And the defenses of the light seemed to be there only to bite time because the shadows were becoming stronger, bolder, closer. Then the truce broke. One of the shadows, a dark twisted mass writhing across the ceiling, detached itself and dropped toward me like a heavy glob of tar. I tried to retreat. I tried to swim through the air, but terror froze me. It didn't fall onto the body in the bed. It fell onto me, onto my soul. I felt a physical touch. Real, disgusting. It was freezing and viscous, as though I were being wrapped in tentacles made of solid, wet smoke. Where it touched my spiritual arm, I felt burning, not from heat, but from an absolute cold that seemed to suck the life out of me. The other shadows sensed the opening immediately. They surged forward like a pack of starving wolves that had smelled blood. The hospital room vanished from my peripheral vision, swallowed by a swirling tunnel of darkness. I felt myself being dragged downward. A violent gravitational force wanted to pull me through the floor. I screamed. I struggled. I kicked at those things, but my blows passed through them while claws like needles and ice dug into me. They 17 minutesdidn't merely want to kill me. They wanted to possess me, to devour me piece by piece. Then the voices began invading my mind. They weren't external sounds. They were intrusive thoughts, violent, and the mocking forced directly into my consciousness. You're ours. You said we didn't exist. Now you know. Now you're ours forever. Another voice, shrill like fingernails scraping across glass, laughed while listing my failures. Look how arrogant he is. Look how alone he is. Nobody is coming for you, atheist. Nobody cares about you. Every sentence struck me like a hammer, crushing whatever will I had left to resist. The psychological torture was worse than the freezing touch. I looked desperately toward the golden light. The warrior-like beings stood nearby. "Why aren't you helping me?" I pleaded silently. But they remained still, their swords lowered. They looked at me with an expression that seemed to combine sadness with severe justice. That was the most terrifying moment of my existence. I understood that they could not intervene. I did not belong to them. For 40 years, I had signed the contract of rejection. Day after day, I had chosen solitude, and now the darkness had come to collect what I had willingly left unprotected. The sensation of being dragged grew stronger. My spiritual feet began sinking into the floor as though it were quicksand. I saw my wife's face one last time, far away in the world of the living, crying over my body. I wanted to apologize for being so blind. But the darkness had already risen to my chest. It covered my mouth. It suffocated my screams. The smell of sulfur and rotten flesh became unbearable. I felt the pure terror of prey, realizing that its predator was stronger, faster, and infinitely more cruel. The cold invaded my chest. My spiritual heart seemed to slow, freezing. The darkness began covering my eyes like a dirty cloth tied over my face. This is it, I thought. This is how hell begins. Not with fire, with capture, with the theft of the soul. I was being dragged into a dimension of eternal suffering. And the worst part wasn't the pain. It was knowing that I had walked into that trap with my own feet. My arrogance had been my one-way ticket. Then at the final moment when the darkness was about to close completely over my head and dragged me into the abyss opening beneath me, desperation shattered my rational defenses. I had no arguments left, no logic, no pride. I was simply a terrified being on the verge of annihilation. Chapter 6: The intervention And from the bottom of that suffocating darkness without thinking or planning, my soul cried out the only name I had spent my life refusing to speak. Jesus, help me. The cry came from my soul, not my mouth. It wasn't a religious prayer. It wasn't an act of theological faith. It was the instinctive cry of a man being torn apart who knew there was only one authority capable of stopping it. The instant that name resonated through the spiritual realm, the atmosphere exploded, it was like detonating a grenade of light inside a pit of tar. The shadows holding me screamed. A shrill sound like breaking glass filled the room, and I instinctively wanted to cover ears I no longer even had. They released me for the briefest fraction of a second, recoiling as though they had touched red hot iron. And then the angel's restraint ended. The moment they heard my cry for help, their posture changed. They were no longer observers. They became warriors. They didn't fly. They vanished from one point and reappeared above the demons with a speed no human eye could follow. What I saw next wasn't a Renaissance painting of little angels playing harps. It was violence. Pure and holy violence. One of the beings of light drew a sword that wasn't made of metal. It was made of blinding white fire. He brought it down upon the dark mass that was trying to drag me away. The impact shook the entire room. Sparks of light and black smoke exploded in every direction. The battle was chaotic and deafening. I curled into a corner, watching titans collide only inches away from me. The demons didn't surrender easily. They fought back with savage fury, spitting acidic sludge and trying to bite and claw at the angel's armor. I remember seeing one demon with long, grotesqually disproportionate arms leap onto the back of one of the warriors of light. The angel didn't even flinch. He simply turned, seized the creature by the throat, and held it against the wall. When the creature struck the spiritual wall of the hospital, it didn't sound like a body hitting plaster. It sounded like thunder. The wall cracked, revealing the emptiness beyond it. What terrified me most was the precision. There were no wasted movements. While the human doctors below desperately pumped my heart, completely unaware of what was happening above them, the war unfolding overhead seemed to determine whether that heart would ever beat again. I saw beams of light slicing through the air, cutting apart shadows that dissolved into foul smelling smoke. But for every shadow destroyed, two more seemed to emerge from the floor, bubbling up like dirty oil. It was a plague. They knew they were losing their prey and they fought with desperate madness. In the middle of that hurricane, I felt the fragility of my existence. I was a sheet of paper in the middle of a fire. The energy radiating from the angels was so intense that I felt I could be disintegrated simply by standing too close. And the evil radiating from the demons was so toxic that it left me dizzy and weak. The contrast was unbearable. the scorching heat of holiness against the cutting cold of damnation. I saw flashes of the heart monitor, a flat line, then an erratic spike, then another flat line. My life hung by a thread, and that thread was being violently pulled from both sides. Suddenly, the shadows gathered together. They realized they couldn't defeat the warriors one by one. So they formed a gigantic wave. A wall of darkness rose from floor to ceiling, ready to swallow everything. The angels, me, the room, everything. The roar they released filled my soul with terror. It seemed like the end. The angels formed a defensive line in front of me, shields raised and blazing brightly. But the black tide looked too large, too heavy, too powerful. I closed my spiritual eyes and waited for the final impact. I expected to be swept into hell. Then the ceiling of the hospital opened Chapter 7: Divine encounter completely. An army didn't descend, only a hand. When the ceiling opened, a light descended so intense that it erased everything that had existed before it. the hospital, the angels, the darkness. That light did not blind me. It revealed and within it descended a presence. I couldn't see the face. The radiance was like staring directly into the sun from only a few inches away. But I knew who it was. Every atom of my being recognized the author of life. The enormous wave of darkness that had seemed invincible only seconds earlier didn't fight. It simply dissolved in panic. I heard the shadows screaming in terror, an expression of absolute desperation as they fled, disappearing through cracks in the floor like insects escaping a fire. The battle ended the instant he arrived. The presence stopped beside me. I had spent my entire life denying his existence. Now I was curled up before him, trembling, not from fear, from shame. I expected judgment. I expected him to point at me and say, "I told you so." But what struck me instead was a wave of love so overwhelming that it hurt more than any torture. It was warm, heavy, almost liquid. He knew every dirty joke I had ever told, every moment of pride, every rejection, every time I had mocked him. And yet, he loved me. I felt my defenses collapse. I began sobbing uncontrollably. That love broke me apart. I didn't deserve to be there. He knew it, and I knew it. Then he extended his hand. There was a mark on his wrist, a scar that seemed to glow. He didn't touch my soul to pull me toward him. He touched my chest, exactly where my physical heart had stopped. The touch was gentle, but it carried the force of a thousand galaxies. There were no spoken words, no Spanish, no Portuguese. Instead, a thought passed directly into me. A voice resonating inside my consciousness like gentle thunder. You haven't seen the truth yet. Now go and live it. It wasn't a request. It was an order. An order that rewrote my destiny. The instant his hand touched my chest, the piece was violently ripped away from me. I felt as though a hook had been driven into my stomach and someone had pulled me backward at the speed of light. The room spun. Colors blurred together. Weightlessness disappeared. Gravity returned as though an entire building had fallen on top of me. I felt the cold of the hospital room. The smell Chapter 8: The physical return of alcohol. And suddenly, pain, terrible, crushing pain. It exploded through my chest. The continuous tone of the monitor broke. I opened my physical eyes and gasped for air with a raw, desperate sound, like a drowning man breaking the surface. My chest burned where the doctor had just applied the defibrillator. But I knew it wasn't the electrical shock that had brought me back. The doctor jumped backward in surprise. He's back. Sinus rhythm. He's back. My wife screamed, a cry that mixed terror and relief. I was trapped again inside that heavy, painful flesh. Tears ran down my face and soaked the pillow. I tried to speak, but my throat was dry and scraped raw from the tube. All I could do was mumble and shake uncontrollably on the bed. The doctor assumed I was experiencing post-traumatic spasms, but I was shaking because the energy of that touch was still vibrating inside me. The room was normal again, white lights, beige walls, machines, but I kept staring at the corners at the ceiling because I knew now that the reality we see is only a thin curtain. I grabbed the nurse's arm with whatever strength I had left. She leaned closer, assuming I was in pain. I pulled her face toward mine and whispered with my failing voice the only thing that made sense. The sentence that buried the atheist I had been only minutes earlier. He's real. They're real. She looked at me with pity, assuming I was delirious from oxygen deprivation. But I closed my eyes and smiled. For the first time, I felt a peace that no heart monitor could measure. I had died. But for the first time in 40 years, I was truly alive. The days that followed in the hospital passed in a silent haze. The doctors called my recovery a medical miracle, citing unlikely statistics and sheer luck. I simply nodded. The physical world seemed different now. The colors were less vivid than those I had seen on the other side, as though I were watching an old television after seeing reality in 4K. When my wife entered the room carrying coffee, the smell wasn't merely an aroma. I could feel her gratitude. Her fear, the emotions still vibrating inside her. My sensitivity had changed. I was no longer simply flesh and bone. I was a soul wearing a temporary suit. The intellectual arrogance I had once used as armor had melted away, leaving something new behind, something sensitive, something humble. When I finally returned home, the first thing I did was walk into my study. The shelves were filled with books I had spent years collecting. Chapter 9: Transformation of life nature pigeons books that mocked faith and treated God as a collective delusion. I used to look at those books with pride. Now they made me feel sick, not with anger, with profound sadness. I saw those words as maps drawn by people who had never left the cave. I took a cardboard box and began throwing the books inside. My wife appeared in the doorway, frightened, asking what I was doing. Trash, I said, my voice breaking. All of it. They don't know. They haven't seen. The hardest change wasn't throwing away the books. It was facing the mirror. I could see the marks of age on my face. But now I saw something deeper in my eyes. The existential emptiness, the anxiety that everything would eventually disappear into darkness was 32 minutesgone. In its place was an unshakable certainty. But it came with a terrifying responsibility. I knew that every action, every word, every thought carried weight beyond this life. I could no longer live on autopilot. I remember trying to pray for the first time. I didn't know the words. I didn't know the rituals. I knelt on the living room carpet, feeling ridiculous and sacred at the same time, and I simply said, "Thank you for bringing me back. What does the Lord want me to do now?" Friends from my old intellectual circle came to visit. They expected the same sarcastic skeptic, ready to debate politics and science. Instead, they found a quiet man talking about love and purpose. When I tried to tell them what I had seen, the battle, the shadows, the light, I saw the exchanged glances, half smiles, the polite expressions people give when they think someone has lost touch with reality. It was the trauma, Venicius, they told me. The brain does strange things under extreme stress. I didn't argue. I didn't try to prove anything using human logic. I simply looked at them with the compassion of someone who believes the building is on fire while everyone else is still asleep. I lost many friends that week. But the chains of needing their approval had also been broken. Life tastes different now. Breakfast tastes like a miracle. My wife's embrace isn't merely physical contact. It feels like a meeting of souls. The fear of death. The monster that used to stalk me in the silence of the early morning has been destroyed. I know where I'm going. I've seen what awaits in the light. But I've also seen what waits in the shadows. That visual memory of hell crawling across the hospital ceiling is what keeps me vigilant. I'm not a saint. I still fail. I still stumble. But the difference is that I no longer walk in darkness. Today when I look at the sky, I don't see only atmosphere and gases. I see the veil, a thin, almost transparent veil separating our ordinary lives from a colossal spiritual battle and an infinite love. I was a prisoner of my own intellect, chained by the pride of believing I knew everything. But I had to die. I had to feel the cold breath of a demon against my neck before I could finally become free. The chains broke in that hospital room. And I, the former atheist, the former skeptic, am now Chapter 10: A call to reflection simply a witness. I have seen it. And I cannot remain silent. I didn't return to this world because I was special. I 35 minutesdidn't return because I was better than anyone else. I returned because mercy gave me a second chance I didn't deserve. And I believe I returned with one purpose, to tell you not to wait until the monitor flatlines before you open your eyes. The spiritual battle isn't happening only in intensive care rooms or during someone's final breath. It is happening now. At this very moment, while you're listening, there is a silent and violent battle for your attention, for your soul. With every decision you make, I lived with the arrogance of believing I had all the time in the world, that I was the master of my own destiny. I was wrong. And the price of that mistake almost cost me eternity. So, I want to leave you with one question, not a question for you to answer in the comments. A question to answer privately in the silence of your pillow tonight. If today were your final day, if your heart stopped beating within the next 5 minutes, what would you see when you opened your eyes on the other side? Who would be waiting for you in the corner of that room? The absolute peace of the light or the hungry desperation of the shadows? Don't make my mistake. Don't wait to find out. Don't wait until death comes to decide which side you're on. The proof exists. But its price is life. Choose the light while there is still air in your lungs. If this story moved you, subscribe to Brits Admma and join us for more journeys beyond life and death. I died at exactly 3:17 in the morning. The monitor flatlined. My heart stopped. But I didn't. I used to be an atheist. I used to laugh at those who believed in heaven and hell. But while the doctors tried to resuscitate my body, I was floating in the corner of the room, 37 minuteswitnessing something science cannot explain. The room didn't stay empty, the ceiling opened up and I saw with my own eyes real demons battling angels for my soul. They didn't just want to kill me. They wanted to take me away. And I had no defense. What happened in those few minutes changed everything I knew about existence. If you think death is the end, you need to hear what I saw. What I saw. It all started with a sound. That rhythmic, irritating beep of the heart monitor. I was lying there, but my body felt like it weighed a ton, as if the gravity in that hospital room were 10 times stronger than in the rest of the world. The air conditioner hummed, and the smell of alcohol and disinfectant clung to the back of my throat. I remember trying to breathe and feeling a sharp pang in my chest, an unbearable pressure as if an elephant was sitting on my ribs. I wasn't thinking about the light at the end of the tunnel or about God. In that moment, the only thing that existed was the desperate biological struggle of an animal trying not to shut down. I looked to the side and saw my wife's face, distorted by tears. Squeezing my hand with a strength, I could no longer return. Her voice reached me muffled as if I were at the bottom of a swimming pool. Stay with me. Don't go. Stay with me. She kept saying, I wanted to tell her to stop. That it was useless. That biology was failing. Plain and simple. As an atheist, convinced. I knew what was coming next. Nothingness. The brain shutting down. The dreamless darkness. I was afraid, yes, but it was a cold, rational fear. I felt rage at leaving things unfinished. Yet, I was resigned to the fact that existence was just that, chemistry and electricity coming to a halt. Suddenly, 39 minutesthe monitor's alarm changed. The rhythmic beeping turned into a continuous high-pitched sound that pierced my ears. I saw the door fly open and a team dressed in blue rush into the room. Cardiac arrest. Bring a crash cart. Someone shouted. I felt violent movement in my ch.

ATHEIST SAW ANGELS AND DEMON FIGHTING FOR HIS SOUL

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