No one’s really expecting they’re going to die. Who sits in their living room and thinks “I’m gonna get in a car crash today” or “today’s the day my house burns down with me in it”?
Well, unless they’ve been planning it.
That wasn’t my case, though, so I didn’t wake up thinking that this day would be my last. If I did, I probably wouldn’t have wasted it the way I did.
Drinks the night before and sleeping in ‘til midday on a Saturday wasn’t the best end scene. It certainly wasn’t the prettiest either, judging by the way my roommate grimaced as she poked her head into my bedroom and left without saying good morning. Oh well.
I guess you’re wondering how it happened? Yes, well, I’ll tell you. It’s kind of a funny story, actually.
Picture a cloudy day in a shitty apartment in Pennsylvania. I went to the bathroom to brush the last taste of the previous night out of my mouth. It was humid, probably because my roommate had taken a shower and didn’t turn the fan on, so I opened a window.
Almost as if on cue, a Mockingbird flew into the screen. It made a loud crash, and I watched the bird fall to the ground.
Great. First thing I do in the morning is kill a bird. Wonderful.
I did feel bad, though, so I went outside to check on it; didn’t even bother changing out of my pajamas. Out the door, down the hall, down the stairs, into the area in the back. I located my window and started looking around on the ground.
I found the creature before too long. I picked it up, planning on either chucking it over the fence or making a small hole under a bush. It was right under where the window was, on its back in the grass. I made sure to hold it gently.
I guess the bird wasn’t dead, though. Because it woke up, jabbed its beak into my finger, and flew away. Stupid bird.
That wasn’t the problem, though. I guess when the bird flew into the screen, it loosened it. Next thing I knew, the screen was falling out of the window. The corner collided with the base of my head. In case you weren’t already aware, it hurt. I stumbled forward and fell. Lo and behold, I hit my head again, the front on the foundation of the house. Lucky me.
I’m not sure how long I lay there, and I’m not sure why no one found me, but I died without going very far. Again, oh well. Can’t do anything about it now.
People like to ask what happens when you die. I’ve always been skeptical of every theory, but I know now. You do too.
We don’t disappear when we die. We don’t go to some cloud kingdom in the sky, either. We stay right here, on the Earth, with everyone else. They can’t see us. We can’t see us, either. But they can hear us. Everytime they think a strange thought, or feel like they’re having foreign emotions, it’s us, in the back of their minds, whispering. For some reason, it’s harder for some to shut out the voices. They go crazy, telling people of what they know. But no one believes them. Why would they?
Who do you think speaks reason to you when you’re making a decision? Or gives people visions, or ideas for new inventions? They didn’t pull them from nowhere, they had an origin point.
Who do you think put the idea in mind for this story?