perspective of a dead person
Death was something abominable and I shuddered every time it was mentioned or I imagined myself in a situation when Death had its wings wrapped around my limp body. However, my mother always taught me not to be afraid of death, she always said that there was much more to life than not dying. Her words seemed crude to me at that time, you couldn't expect much from a person barely out of childhood bracing herself to challenge adolescence. Whenever and however I was to die, there should have always been a reason behind my living. I learned to value her advices too late.
I watched my dead body in a pool of my own blood on the sidewalk two blocks from my house. It was a common hit-and-run car accident from some drunk bastard too high on drugs to be able to see pedestrians or keep the car on the road. I bit my lips in frustration, wondering when would my body be found my people like me, who liked to stroll the city during midnight. I screamed in frustration at the moon and at the fragments of stars that inhabited the dark mantle called the sky, but to no avail. Nobody could hear me or see me. I felt tears welled in my eyes as blood trickled onto the asphalt. The dimness of the lamp light gave murder an eerie feeling. I was perched in the thin air some metres above my body, allowing me a view of the houses and the streets but not what was beyond my eye sight. Several times I had tried to reach out for my body but I was stopped in midair, as if there was a glass or barrier the dead weren't suppose to trespass. I learned several days later that dead don't belong to the living world and I could never attempt to ever walk their footsteps.
A flicker of light caught my attention, it was a late runner apparently. A man in his late thirties doing his jogging with an earpiece plugged in his ear. The lifeless bundle strewn in the middle of the sidewalk did catch his attention for he slowed his pace to a trot. His eyes were beginning to frown even more as he approached the bundle until finally they were wide open in shock and something akin to disgust. He didn't even bother to check if my body was still giving signs of life, instead he quickly took his cellphone and dialed 9-1-1. Finally a kind hearted pedestrian who had deigned to stroll the midnight streets!
Now it was just a matter of time before the paramedics arrived in their noisy ambulance to strapped me to a bed and take me away to the nearest hospital just to have me examined before breaking down the terrible news to my parents. I wasn't looking forward to their scolding. I sighed, at least my body was going to be taken care of. There was no business for me anymore. I glanced at the moon and cursed it.
"It wasn't my time yet," I murmured like a whimpering kid unable to get over the fact that the world didn't revolve around me. I knew the wind was blowing because ragged clouds were pushed in front of the moon's glow, partially covering the world in gray splendour, yet I couldn't feel it. Was this what death was all about? Not being able to feel anything, just an aching heart that did not beat anymore? I didn't wait to find out, when I saw the light before me I went immediately towards it, without glancing back, because I knew that if I glanced back I would never be able to get over the fact that I was already dead.