The Television room

I was ran over by a car once. It killed me. Big deal. I’m happier here anyways. I have friends here, my mother loves me here. The food, odd enough, tastes better here and the flowers never die, they don’t wither shamelessly or fade away, they stay put. Pretty little flowers. The sun doesn’t burn my skin here. I’ve always been a fair child, fairer than most anyways, always standing in the shade, long sleeved mouse hidden precariously by the flittering leaves of the trees. Now the sun loves me, it tickles me with delight and I laugh and laugh, giggles, hick ups, like a child, with my feet way up in the air.

Why would I want to go back? Never mind the dead part. My life was vacant back home. No hooras, no yepedidoudas. But don’t go thinking I jumped in front of that car on purpose. Hey, there are better ways to die. It’s just so- messy. And painful. Bones breaking. Skin gashing. Not. Cool. Pain doesn’t exist here. I forget how it feels. I hate it. The words to describe the feeling still exists in my head but the physical aspect of it is now missing.

I think i’m losing my mind up here…