(Thanks to hummingcrow@Flickr for the original pic! Remixed using BeFunky.)
I have realized that I need to write my stories in one sitting. Whenever I take a break, it also breaks the flow of thought, character, humor, crispness – basically everything about the story.
Hence, a few of my previous stories have been really crappy – sorry about that. Hope this one isn’t – because this just happens to be a one-sitting story. Enjoy! :)
I’m 24. I am dead. Not a good situation to be in, right?
Isn’t it funny, though? I mean, there are a zillion ways of saying, “I am dead.” They are called euphemisms, I’m told. But they all mean the same to me – dipshit. I mean, who cares if I have ‘moved on’ or ‘breathed my last’? I ain’t around to hear how beauti-fuckin-fully you are depicting the end of my existence, am I now? So what difference does that make to me?
But it isn’t my fault, really. I was right there minding my own business, when this huge boulder came crashing down and fell right on my toes.
Yeah, my toes – you got a problem with that? Good. You’d better not.
Because I do. I mean, What a way to die!! WHAT a FKIN STUPID, PATHETIC, SORRY-ASS, WAY TO FKIN DIE!! 24 years old, and dead! Dead as a dodo. Dead as a door-nail. Dead as a- oh fuck it, who cares? I’m dead and that’s all there is to it.
Before you go Sherlock on me, no, I do NOT have diabetes or any of that shit that causes blood to stop coagulating. What’s coagulating? That’s when blood clots form after a wound, ya nincompoop! My blood is perfectly fine, thank you very much.
Actually, it was my brain. My brain got fried – like a bloody overloaded computer motherboard. You see, I cannot stand the sight of blood. I go dizzy. I faint. I lose consciousness. Yeah, it’s called extreme hematophobia, I know. I would fkin know, wouldn’t I? I mean, I fkin suffered from it for twenty-four f**kin years of my life, for cryin out loud!!
And so here we are. I am 24. My toes were crushed by a boulder. I am dead.
Back to square one.
Twenty-four and dead. Sounds like a movie title. Maybe they’ll even make one. ‘The gory-story of the young guy who died because a boulder smashed his toes to a pulp! Coming soon to theatre near you!’
Maybe they’ll call it “Pulped (to a) Friction” if that Tarantino guy makes the bloody movie – after all he makes the gory ones, doesn’t he?
Oh, who am I kidding? There’s no movie. There’s never gonna be one. Ever. The most I can get maybe, is a feature on one of those new-fangled sites on the internet. Niche segemnt, they call themselves. Perverse, I call them. Or maybe, I’ll get a teeny-tiny-fuckin-insert in a pathetic little yellow publication. If I’m lucky enough, that is.
You are probably thinking, ‘Who’s this guy? Why the f**k is he ranting? How did he die?’
It doesn’t matter who I am. You don’t know me. You don’t NEED to know me. That’s all there is to it. That answers your first question. For the second question, I want you to picture this – you are 24 and you’re dead. Because a boulder fell on your toes. And as an added bonus, your brain got fried, too. Wouldn’t YOU be ranting? That, I believe, answers your second question.
Okay, I understand that the entire twenty-four and boulder-smashing-toes and brain-getting-friend motif is getting a little boring now. But it’s because I am a little pissed with myself – for being a little too careless. And I want to thank you for your patience for hearing me out so far. I just wanted to get that out of my system.
Oh wait, I forgot. I DON’T have a system now. Whatever.
(To be continued)
I have split the story into parts for one simple reason – I want to check whether the suspense is enduring. Would appreciate thoughts on the same…
Next post within seven days. Assured. :D
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