ANNA JARSKE-FRANSAS Don't panic

DON’T PANIC

FICTION BY ANNA JARSKE-FRANSAS ILLUSTRATION BY ANNA MÄKELÄ

In Greek mythology they call it Thanatos and in Celtic folklore it’s known as the Ankou. Usually a male figure, sometimes a god, sometimes a saint or an angel. The Angel of Death. San La Muerte. A figure of a dog in Scottish folklore known as Cù Sìth. Some know it as the Grim Reaper. Wikipedia calls it the “cessation of all biological functions that sustain a living organism. An inevitable process eventually occurring in all living organisms.” Death.

A few times in my life I’ve been face-to-face with a health scare that ended up being nothing, but until I knew that… Do you know that feeling? The downward spiral of crippling anxiety it sends you to. You know what they say one of the symptoms of a heart attack is? The feeling of impending doom. That’s what it is, but I guess it can be a symptom of an upcoming panic attack as well. Easy mistake to make, the feelings look pretty much the same. That feeling of doom, of anxiety, of almost-panic, then panic. It’s like a black cloud has suddenly enveloped you, you see your surroundings through this translucent blackness. And then you realize breathing is suddenly very, very difficult. Your heart is beating a million miles an hour and the trembling of your hands drops the coffee cup you were holding on to.

All these regrets come up. You wish you didn’t drink that glass of wine nearly every night, and who are you kidding anyway, it was never just one glass of wine. You wish you didn’t eat so many unhealthy takeaway meals. You wish you’d lost weight. You wish you’d exercised more, like she used to tell you all the time. She was right, right? You should’ve listened, why didn’t you? Time to bargain now… But the anxiety dissipates at some point and having a glass of wine at the end of the day to unwind really doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore, just one glass of course. Maybe some chocolate too. Dark chocolate is healthy after all. So is red wine. And I mean, can white wine really be that different?

Sometimes the anxiety isn’t so crippling, but the thoughts are still there, if you let them out. I wonder how do people deal with these feelings? Are most just living in denial, never dare to entertain the thought of the end. It seems that way. Not many people want to talk about it, but occasionally I meet the rare individual who does. Those are always the most fruitful and interesting conversations. It helps me to understand what people are feeling, what it is I’m seeing when someone is dealing with that kind of anxiety. Most of all it helps me

to understand myself.

Do you know the old NES game Super Mario Bros, from the 80s? I always loved it, still do. I cannot bring myself to like these new ultrarealistic murder fantasies, or whatever they are. Not my cup of tea. Anyway, I digress. When playing Super Mario, eventually the dreaded black screen with those two words comes up. Game over. That has always been one of the triggers I’ve observed to lead me down to hear this inner monologue of death-anxiety and -wonder. Mario has three lives, maybe even more, if he finds those special mushrooms. Humans only have one life, and there are no restarts. And those special mushrooms might help you live a happier, anxiety-free existence, which would be great by the way, but they don’t grant you extra lives. When the game is over, it really is over for good.

Unless you can sell yourself some religions version of the truth of what happens after you die. There are so many to choose from. How about Heaven as a place where you meet your lost loved ones and live an eternal life of bliss surrounded by them, after you die. It can be so comforting, I’ve seen that in some people. It might be the only way they can cope with the harsh realities of life, but for some that’s what takes them further away from their God.

Suffering, illness and death isn’t fair. I’ve seen a young child lose her faith, because she couldn’t bring herself to believe in a god who’d give her cancer. What had she done to deserve it? There was that time she stole a piece of string from a street vendor selling flowers. They used those strings to tie flower bouquets, and her mother got so angry with her. Lesson learned instantly. That was stealing and stealing is wrong. Maybe she wasn’t always the best big sister either. She’d exclude her annoying younger brother from the games she’d play with her friends. But was it so bad she deserved leukemia at the age of 11? She struggled with losing the comfort of her faith but later she found comfort in the finality of death. Decomposing and becoming one with earth sounded pretty good to her. Eternal life? No, thank you. Not her cup of tea.

Then there’s the idea of reincarnation. I find that to be a very interesting concept. Especially if your soul or consciousness, or whatever you want to call it, would remember all those lives you’ve lived. How interesting would that be? There are so many religions, ancient and contemporary, that have their own version of this phenomenon. One of my personal favourites, on interpretations of death and afterlife, is preserved for contemporary audiences in the Poetic and Prose Eddas, collections of poems and stories from Old Norse religion. It’s all so grandiose, soldiers taken to Valhalla on their demise, only to rise again to face Ragnarök, the final battle to face the end of the world, and finally rebirth. Humans throughout history have told the most extraordinary stories about and surrounding death. I guess that’s one way to cope, to make sense of it all and find some meaning in their lives, that are just a blink of an eye, not even that, on a cosmic scale. A way to… ”Morty?” My thoughts are interrupted by a voice behind me.

“Hey, Morty, are you awake? Your break ended five minutes ago. Those Big Macs aren’t gonna serve themselves. Get your ass over here.”

I turn around, slowly bringing my consciousness back to the break room I’m sitting in, and face my 20-year-old boss, Tim.

“Oh, and don’t panic, but there is probably about a hundred hangry customers waiting here,” Tim adds.

“Be right there,” I said.

Soon enough he’ll find out who I really am. His time is nearly up. I would feel bad, I almost do, if I could feel, that is. I can see and hear the feelings humans have when they fear me, when they see me approaching.

Some are even happy to see me, but usually not the young ones.

I have no choice though. I’m just doing my job.

”Ei hätä auta muus kun kirpun kiinniotos.”

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