Are you alive?

It's important to accept the truth at life drawing classes.

Are you alive?

I still remember the life drawing class I took in my first year of college. Like anyone else might have done, I felt horrendously self aware of my every defining imperfection. My bulging rolls of belly fat seemed to scream at me as I sat on the unforgiving wooden chair, trapped within a circle of curious faces. Judgement, veiled thinly behind a pretense of curiosity, the odd ‘hmm’ as they considered my form. I could feel my own unexercised muscles shift achingly as I shifted in my chair, attempting to find any kind of flattering pose and failing catastrophically.

In the few minutes for which I sat there, I could already feel the embarrassment I’d feel on ‘admiring’ the work of my fellow students. How I’d have to comfort myself with a spiel on how ‘every body is beautiful’...sigh. Well, I did need the money, and this was my only burden.

What I soon noticed as I heard the scratching of pencils, and the furtive darting of eyes across my prostrate, vulnerable form, was a single nagging absence. A man in a beret and a goatee almost custom designed to look as ‘worldly’ and pretentious as possible, had remained in abject silence, arms folded. I tried to ignore this but...

“Hey, hey?”

“Hi”

“W-why aren’t you drawing anything?”

“Well...many consider this to be a ‘life drawing’ exercise, but...” he looked me over.

“I can’t see anything that I would reasonably consider to be alive...”

Giving in to my indignation, I arose from the chair and made my way back to my clothes, muttering to myself.

The man sighed and cleared his throat.

“You have failed. You have not passed the test proving acceptance of your death, so you may not enter heaven at this time. Please leave, you may retry at the next natural passing.”

Feeling all eyes on me, I dressed hurriedly and bolted from the nearest door...

 

I awake. A mans arm is on my shoulder, as I lie on the street, bruised and in pain.

“Love...love? You alright? Are you alive?”