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Dead Twice

Does death lose all meaning when you're immortal?

By Nathan CarverPublished 4 years ago 7 min read
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Dead Twice
Photo by David Jorre on Unsplash

When I was four, I died.

When I say that, I don't mean I stopped breathing for a short while or something like that. I was hit by a car, died on impact. Broken neck. I was declared legally dead ten minutes after I got hit.

Two hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty-three seconds later, I woke up. No injuries or even bruises that were long term. It was a complete medical mystery. The doctors all wanted to study me, but my parents refused. I haven't gone to the doctors since then. I… Well it’s complicated but let's just say heal I myself now.

No one knew what to do with me. I didn't get sick, healed almost instantly from any injuries, and it just got weirder as I got older. In younger years I had some friends, but by age eleven, I was just known as the weird girl that should be avoided. I started experimenting to see how I healed- hit myself hard enough to bruise, then watched as it faded. Cut my arms, watching the blood pour as my arms healed. When I was thirteen, my blood, which had always seemed dark, started to pitch black.

My injuries went from healing quickly to instantly. I stopped cutting myself, afraid someone would catch me and see my black blood. I started wearing long sleeves, even in summer, to avoid getting even a scratch. When I started middle school, I started hanging out with the Goth kids.

Sophomore year is when I met Emi. In her junior year, she flew down to California to meet me, and once we both graduated high school, she moved here. We started the same college and got an apartment. That was last year.

Emi's not the kind of girl you'd expect to like Goth chicks. She's tiny, 5’2 to be exact, with long pink hair that she makes me help her dye. She's sweet and funny and not a lot of people know this, but she’s also secretly terrifying.

I’m getting off track. Anyways. Emi and I have been dating for five years now, although our first few years were mainly online dating.

I've never told her any of this until yesterday. Yesterday, I died again.

Emi and I were walking in the park. I look kinda masculine- my chest is small, I have short hair, wear pants and vests a lot- so we often get mistaken for a straight couple. Until I speak, at least.

Everything was good until one day we were walking in the park.

"Ya know... it's nice. Seeing a straight couple here for once," some guy told us. He grinned at me. "You scored, dude. Where’d you get her? Is it the Goth makeup? I hear Asian chicks dig goths. Looks like it's true."

"I don’t like you talking about my girlfriend that way," I said.

The guy looked at us again, paused, looking us over. then he sneered. "Fucking spoiled teens... Go get your own park, leave some space for us normal people."

"Sir, just please leave us alone," I said, squeezing Emi's hand, trying to keep her from punching the guy.

"Normally I don't punch chicks," the guy said, " but you barely look like one, so I don’t care." And with that, he punched me in the face.

I dropped Emi's hand. Emi started searching for her phone.

"Pussy..." the guy smirked at me. He punched me again. Emi was dialing 911.

He kept going. Finally I’d had enough. I hit him back, except the skull ring I was wearing cut his cheek.

Something sparkled in his eyes that screamed MANIAC. STAY AWAY.

If only I did.

"You bitch," he said, and suddenly he had a knife. And then there was blood, my blood, BLACK and wet, and it was everywhere.

In a distance I could hear Emi gasp.

My skin couldn't keep up. The psychopath was stabbing me as fast as I was healing. I hit him, again and again, desperate. He was now out of his mind in rage, screaming, calling me all sorts of names and cutting the same spots over and over.

“FUCKING BITCH! WHY ARE THEY HEALING!”, he screamed into my ears over and over again.

Emi was on the phone still, screaming that he had a knife and to please hurry into the phone. I could hear the fear in her voice.

For the first time in my life since the accident, I pleaded for someone to save my life. I felt not immortal. Like my life could actually end at this very moment.

Then suddenly there was a sharp pain in my chest, and then... nothing.

I woke up at the hospital.

In the morgue.

My shirt was black and sticky with blood. Dead bodies surrounded me.

Deja vu…

I tried to stay calm. But no matter how many goth depressing songs you listen to, being surrounded by dead bodies has a way of freaking you out.

And at that moment I couldn’t help but ask myself… Why? Why was I the only one given a chance to live again. Not just again, but again -- and again.

I looked to my left. Middle aged woman, with a pink t-shirt, smeared with blood, and formal pants. “Stabbed to death too”, I thought. Maybe she had a family waiting for her at home before her death. A loving husband, kids that adored her, a job fulfilling her place in the society. I looked around and saw all kinds of dead people, young couples out on dates who’d fallen victim to accidents, men of all builds, women in khakis, yoga pants and formal dresswear. The old and diseased, and kids, oh my god. Young kids who had their futures taken away at the blink of an eye.

My heart skipped a beat.

Checking my pockets, I discovered I still had my phone. I took it out, hoping it still had some battery.

Sixteen percent, it told me, and I swiftly went to contacts to call Emi. She picked up almost instantly.

"Who the hell is this?" she answered. Her voice sounded rough, as if she'd been crying.

"Emi! I ... it's me. It's Anya... I don't know where I am but I think it's the Morgue. Ahaha.. I think I’m surrounded by dead bodies."

"Is this a prank call?"

"No! No, Emi, please. It’s me."

"Prove it."

"Ugh, let me think. Ah yes, you used to use tanning beds until you saw Final Destination."

It was our planned fact. If we ever needed to prove who we were, that was what we would say to prove it. It wasn't true- Emi had never used a tanning bed. which was what made it perfect.

She was silent, then a crying: "I’ll be right there”, greeted my ears.

She hung up.

Ten minutes later, the door to the morgue opened. Emi was talking to the nurse.

"See! I told you," she said.

"I’m so sorry about all this," the nurse said. “Really... we’re going to try and figure out how to make up for this."

"Don’t report that I legally died and came back to life" I replied.

“But… but --”

“Please don’t. My family will take care of the paperwork business”, I comforted the confused nurse.

“Okay”, she finally complied as Emi took my hand.

It was dark outside when we got into the car.

"What happened?", I asked.

Emi paused. "You...the doctor said you died in the ambulance. You weren't breathing, no pulse, no brain activity. They...they declared you legally dead.", she finally released all the pent up sobs onto my chest.

"When?", I finally asked, caressing her beautiful pink hair.

"Fourteen hours ago.", she replied still sobbing.

I shivered.

"Anya. you died. You literally died. There shouldn't be any way for you to be alive right now."

“I know.”

The rest of the car ride was quiet. When we got home, I told her everything, about how I died when I was four, my experiments with my healing and discovery with my blood.

It’s been a week since this incident now and I’m in my bed with Emi in my arms. She seems asleep but I, well I fucking can't sleep. I don't know what's happening, or why it is happening. Why am I like this, and what made me like this?

I guess I’ll find that out the third time I die.

fiction
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About the Creator

Nathan Carver

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