I mean, I did for a while. A long while. Because when I died and my soul took off, the rest of me... didn't. Two bullets lodged in my chest, and I bled out in an alley. A shortcut to the car. I was lying in the gutter turning my blood into new pavement paint, and I died. My heart stopped, no more brain function, the whole shebang. So, naturally, I waited for the darkness to set in and all that, but it didn't.
After about an hour of lying there, I sat up. I coughed up one of the bullets (I keep it in a jar on my mantle), and felt for a pulse.
No pulse.
So, naturally, I went to the hospital. They were... confused. To say the least.
I spent the next six months bumping from hospital to hospital. Learned to fix a bunch of diagnostic equipment, you know, as something to do. They kept thinking their stuff must be broken. It was pretty boring really. Especially when you don't have to sleep anymore. Or pee.
So the first six months was all hospitals and news interviews. "The Dead Man" on the six o'clock news. Very cool. But people get bored, and I sure as hell was. So I started trying to figure things out for myself.
I decided to skip the medical route... I figure if they figure something out they'll page me.
So I made the most important decision of my life. Well.. of my death. Of both. You know what I mean. I got a library card. You should too.
It might not save your life, but it might just save your death.
From being boring, anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment