The Life of Death

Monday started just like any other. As if the day wanted to play to the stereotype, I woke up to the hissing of rain pelting my roof. The rain and my comfy bed had decided to go in cahoots with each other and plot to keep me from going to work. I did not want to get up. However, my mini pinscher, Buck, was aware of the plot by the evil Monday and came to rescue me and foil this Monday’s villainous plan. He jumped upon my bed and began to rigorously bathe me with his tongue. Monday countered his attack as ripping cloth filled the air. Buck’s toenails tore a hole in my favorite polyester, striped pajamas. He playfully nipped my neck, but accidentally biting a little too hard, he punctured my jugular and caused me to bleed to death.

I slowly got up, still groggy, and made my way towards the stairs and to the kitchen for my favorite morning cup of java. Unaware of my son’s legos all over the floor, my bare foot stepped on one. Hopping up and down on one foot, I lost my balance and went over the railing at the top of the stairs, landing headfirst on the floor below, my neck cracking as my life ended abruptly. I got up, shook my head a little, and went down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

After starting the coffee, I opened the back door to let Billy out and subsequently slipped on some water that had spilled from Billy’s water dish. The broken neck I suffered made the death quick and clean. Sitting up from the fall, I realized that I had to refill Jack’s water dish anyway. I looked down. Great. Now my favorite silver, silk pajamas were torn and dirty. For a chihuahua, that dog could be a nuisance. The tea kettle began to whistle, indicating the tea had finished. For a moment, I had a vague memory of starting coffee. I don’t know why I would have started coffee; I hate coffee. I don’t even own a coffee maker.

The green tea was as perfect as ever. Ever since I started as a sales consultant for the local gym, I’ve focused on my health. My body remains toned, my heart is healthier than most 42-year-olds, and I still have a good appeal to the ladies. With no wife and no kids, nothing stops me from achieving the best health possible.

Back in my room, I quickly get dressed for work. The leaking carbon monoxide from the gas heater kills me without a sound, but I still manage to leave the house on time. My boss says that accountants should always be good with time management above all things, so I best not be late. I hop into my old Pontiac Grand Am and head to work.

There are around 14 traffic accidents on the drive. Each death as terrible as the ones before. From a car passing another car and hitting me in a head on collision to a random deer in the middle of the city, a least I and my Honda make it to the restaurant in one piece. My head is starting to feel heavy.

A vision of a gym starts to cloud my head, along with an accountant’s office. I don’t know what this is all about, but I feel like a little of my sanity is slipping away. In the restaurant, I quickly walk behind the serving counter and towards the back to my office, getting accidentally stabbed by a clumsy chef along the way.

I sit down in my chair and push the keyboard to my computer back so that I could lay my head down for a bit. This headache is turning into a beast. I open the top drawer to my desk and down two aspirin, choking to death on the second one. Laying my head down, I wait for the pain to subside.

A knock fills the air. “Come in,” I say meekly.

The door opens and a dirty man with a beard and a hard hat stands at the doorway. Beyond him is a construction site. I look around at my office and realize that it’s not a restaurant office anymore. I suddenly remember choking on the aspirin.

I see the man speaking to me, asking me something, but it all comes out muffled as memories begin to fill my head of decapitations, stabbings, slips and falls, and a variety of different deaths for as far back as I can remember. Experiences of thousands of jobs begin to overload my head. Thousands of schools that I attended as a child, and just as many locations that I have lived. Each death being thwarted only by my sudden shift into a reality in which the death did not occur.

The headache is back… with a vengeance.

Two Weeks Later

The tumor is the size of a lemon. It is also the only constant throughout each reality. My doctor, I couldn’t tell you which one as it constantly changes, says that it is inoperable. This death, in this hospital room, appears to be my final one. As much as I want to say goodbye to my loved ones, I have no idea who they are. There are a few people around me now, looking at me with love and sadness. I have no idea if they are family or friends and I feel as if I should just pretend I know them as I have so many times in the past two weeks. I’ve died so many times, I’m not even scared of it.

Today is it. I know it. Some of the doctors across the planes of reality have said I wasn’t supposed to make it this long, others gave me longer. But I’m too weak to even notice when my heart stops and I continue on along another reality… one in which I’m still in this hospital bed, with the same tumor. The weakness still increases.

A nurse comes in to check on me, only to freak out as she looks at my vitals on the monitor next to me. Within moments, a frenzy of nurses surrounds me, but they are too late. The beeping of the monitor ceases, and I draw my final breath. Finally, a death I can forget.

Monday started just like any other. As if the day wanted to play to the stereotype…