Story Time!

I often write stories, and give up and delete it a couple of pages in. So recently I have moved onto short stories, they are all crap and I still delete them, so I have decided that I should keep them - for what other reason than for shits and giggles. So here is the most recent piece of trash literature:

                                                                                                                                                                      

You have such a mundane life, day after day, a monotonous cycle of meaningless tasks that benefit you how? And I mean really benefit you, how is that going to help you when you are on your deathbed, waiting for the grim reaper to collect you. How are these memories going to comfort you? Last week you went to the store to buy some milk. You died on the way, nothing exciting, just a car accident; your mangled remains where pulled from the wreckage, on the way to the morgue your heart started and you woke up, in the end your body suddenly became a warrior, fighting for you because it’s the only thing it could do.

In hospital your heart stopped seven times, pieces of shrapnel from the crash found their way to you lungs and heart, and over the course of your visit you were sent to surgery four times. That’s why you are here now, you are ‘recovering’. The human body is a remarkable machine, and people never have, and never will understand the body to its full potential. Scientists have theorised that there is a whole dimension of time sitting above us, if humans were to reside there, in theory, they would be able to travel through time itself. But alas we sadly cannot. But if you could, you would; you have so much to regret, so much you would change if you had the chance. But now it is too late, the doctors were in here a few minutes ago to tell you that they didn’t think you would make it to the end of the week - that sucks. You knew that all that drinking would catch up to you, now that all this medication is ripping through your liver. Back in college you loved the beer though didn’t you?  Fifteen years eight months and three days ago you were at a party, you were more intoxicated than you had ever been, and you weren’t even done. You drank for three days straight after that party. But you know all of that, even though your memory is still a little fuzzy, the morphine the doctor gave you isn’t helping you concentrate either. But what you don’t know is that once you fell asleep during the drink-a-thon, you choked on your own vomit and died in your sleep, but when you woke up you continued drinking. You didn’t even realise what had happened.

Some people believe that there are multiple different realities all stacked up next to each other, the ones closer to us are very similar to our own, but as they get further away, the differences become more dramatic and obvious. When you were seven your dog ran away and you never saw it again, but in one of these neighbouring realities, your dog grew old living with you and died a month and two days before your seventeenth birthday. Speaking of being seventeen, that was how old you were when you fell into a deep depression and tried to overdose on pain pills, you had a whole box of the stuff. The last thing you remember is foaming at the mouth – after that you began convulsing and stopped breathing. You were lying in bed when that happened; you woke up in the morning and couldn’t bring yourself to tell your parents what you attempted to do. Someone must be looking out for you, huh? Because you have had some luck with all of these ‘resurrections’.

Your parents never told you this, but it’s about time you knew. You were born at home, too quickly for the midwife to be there so it was just your mother and father in the house. Somehow you managed to get your umbilical cord wrapped around your neck, you came out purple. Your father tried to resuscitate you but was unsuccessful, when the midwife arrived fifteen minutes later; he tried as well, before finally pronouncing you dead. Five minutes after which you took your first breath. Your parents said it was a miracle, and it was; and that is why you were baptised, and was forced to go to church every Sunday until you left home. Looking back it seems a bit counterproductive doesn’t it? Church one of the key reasons you are an atheist today. I can tell you this, if being a Christian wasn’t forced upon you as a kid, you would have a very different spirituality than you have now; Hell, your parents would still be talking to you as well. They were just upset is all; they put so much effort into trying to raise you as a good Catholic child, you not being a theist like they wanted just crushed them.

Well, that’s all I have to tell you about your past, I hope that you can understand. In your Sixty third year, your heart will give out, you will be walking down the street in your neighbourhood when it gets you, but it will be over an hour before anyone finds you, and by then it is too late, you will be getting up and walking away. When you are sixty-two it will be too late, that’s why I am here talking to you. Don’t let it take that long for you to realise. Your friend Cameron died last week. Bitten by a poisonous snake if I recall, he was on his fourteenth world trip, this time to the South American rainforest. He had lived, made his mark and had his fill. The universe let him have his peace. Call it god, call it science, call it what you want, the bottom line is that it’s time. Wake up.