Here's a gem I discovered whilst organizing the 300+ documents on my computer. I got my Mac back in 8th grade and have never sorted anything. So that's what I'm doing tonight. This very short piece could possibly be lengthened, but this is what it is right now. I wrote it for a Creative Writing class senior year for a "great first line" project.
The first time I died was quite uneventful as far as I know. It was almost disappointing. A let down. I’d always imagined going out in a blaze of glory or down in flames. Something epic. Not like this; Alone, asleep, not even given a fighting chance. I was young, this wasn’t my time, it couldn’t be right. Yet it was. I laid my head down on my pillow at 11:26 p.m. on July 18th and lost my life hours later.
The air was cool that night and I kept a window open near my bed to feel the ocean breezes rolling in from the coast, stealthily through the darkness. A dog barked in the distance as I removed my shirt and hit the lights. Laying down, I closed my eyes to block the digital green light emanating from my alarm clock. I wished I would have had ear plugs that night. The thin walls in my apartment complex let through the fighting and arguing going on next door. It was a normal occurrence, but this night it dragged on more than usual. I put my mind in a different place, replaying the day in my head. Before I knew it, I was asleep.
The next thing I knew was nothing. Bleak void permeated the contours of my subconscious while the more awake part of me fixated itself upon a wall. Recognition lightly tapped on my skull, telling me I knew where I was. A sudden flashing of blue light caught my attention and I slowly turned, beholding the squad cars parked in the street.
“What the hell is going on...” My inner voice resounded as if speaking into a cave. Like a robot, my legs carried my body towards the open door of the apartment building. People rushed in and out, talking on phones, scribbling notes, or crying. Some of them were police. Some of them seemed confused. None of them looked at me as I approached and when I saw an open path, I entered the building. An unseen subtlety called me to ascend the stairs. Stairs that I’d climbed many times before... but it seemed like an eternity ago. Vague memories transcended the halls and corridors I passed through. It was like swimming through murky water with my eyes open. The door to my room was gaping open, and people were standing inside. I was confused as to why so many people were inside my living space. I suddenly felt as if I came to life, words moving from my lungs and out my mouth.
“Hey! What’s everyone doing in here?” I shouted, demanding an answer. A man turned around, I thought to reply to me. However, he just walked passed me, not even acknowledging my existence. Becoming annoyed, I stomped into my house and noticed that most of the people were in the bedroom. I headed there, ready to let loose a firestorm of anger and frustration, when I noticed something on the bed. Something... or someone... Then a man began talking.
“The victim was penetrated through the right side of his throat with a 9 mm bullet that came through the opposite wall. It seems that the couple in the other room was having a fight and the woman finally couldn’t take it. She fired several rounds at her partner, hitting him only in the leg. Unfortunately one of them came through the wall.”
And so here I am. Here. Still. Living? Dead? Neither. I am nobody anymore.