Stuck

I wrote this today after taking a break from writing my novel. I consider it experimental for me.

                 Stuck

 

                The blood spray looked like someone torpedoed a bucket full of chunky tomato sauce onto the wall. On a Japanese roll up bed, the kind that's nothing more than a two- inch thick piece of foam, a man lays lifeless on his side, facing the eggshell colored wall. There's a medium sized hole in the back of his head. A gaping wound in the front where the bullet exited. A small paperback rests at his side. He'd been reading a book. Someone walked in quietly, put a gun to the back of his head, and blew his brains out. The reader never saw it coming.

                     *

I know this because that man was me. I wish the person that ended my life was a big mystery to me . I wish I could say it was some enemy that I'd made years ago. Hell, I wish I could say it was just a sad twist of fate. Another casualty in the roulette wheel of life. Sadly, this is not the case. The man who tip toed into my room as I was engrossed in my story, the man who pulled the trigger, sending a chunk of metal ripping through my gray matter, was my brother.

                                                          *

You know that whole thing about there being someone to greet you at the gates of heaven? The bright lights blinding you? That's all bullshit. The only thing that happened was that my body died and now I'm trapped in this stupid room. I tried leaving. I can't. As soon as I get to the door, a force much stronger than me, stops me. I don't know if it’s God or what. I wish I knew. I thought the whole point of death was enlightenment or something like that. Leave it to humans to think there's a "best" way of thinking. I can say that now. I don't count as human anymore. I think they call it ectoplasm. That's what I'm made of. I have Ghostbusters to thank for that. I guess my childhood wasn't an entire waste.

 

                     *

For some reason I have a strong craving for Jack Daniels now that I'm dead. The feeling of being drunk is similar to death. Warm. Fuzzy. Nothing's really that big of a deal.

The feeling isn't as heightened though. It's more like the PG version of taking a pint to the face. Funny I should long for something as trivial as alcohol now that I have an eternity to contemplate my life. Well I'm guessing it's an eternity. Who knows? Maybe an eight armed woman with an elephants head will come to sweep me away within the next couple of days.

 

                    *

The days go by pretty quickly. They move in what I guess would feel like minutes for the living.

 

                    *

It's been two months since I died. I'm still trapped in this freaking room. I tried screaming but I don't think anybody hears me.

 

                                                         *

My brother came one into my room a few days ago. He looked at the corner where he'd shot me dead. His eyes were black and dull. I think he might've been on drugs at the time. He sat down on the floor were my body had been. The room was empty by this point. The police tape blocking the door long removed. He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling for a while and then fell asleep. I did laps around my room until he left a few hours later.

 

                    *

My brother came into my room again. I wonder why my mom is letting him in. You think this place would be sacred. They don't even have candles lit or anything. No teddy bears and flowers stuffed around my high school yearbook photo like on the TV news. I watched as he sat down Indian style on the wood floor. He pulled out a syringe and a black shoelace. He tied the shoelace tight around his arm until it started turning purple. I screamed for him to stop. I kicked and kicked at the needle about to sink into his arm. He stopped for a second and titled his head at an odd angle. I don't know if all my kicking and screaming got his attention. He shook whatever he was feeling off and stuck the needle into a crusty wound . His eyes rolled into the back of his head. He woke up a few hours later and left.

 

                  *

Well, this whole death thing kind of sucks. Not really bad. It could be worse. I guess. Especially when you think about all the places we're told we could go if we don't behave. It kind of feels like watching an episode of your favorite TV show over and over again. At first it was funny and interesting. Now it’s just boring. You know what's going to happen before it even happens.

                  *

New developments! I found out how to open the door in my closet. I was even able to rummage through some of my old papers. I found some papers from when I was in the army. I was able to read them for a little bit but then the writing seems to fade away. I'll have to try again later.

 

                 *

It turns out I can only read for a limited amount of time. Weird I know. I thought living was hard. This whole death thing is just plain nuts. Anyway, among my old army papers I found the life insurance policy I'd bought before I got kicked out. That was years ago. Turns out I named my brother as the main beneficiary. I'm trying not to think the worst.

 

                 *

Today my mom came in for the first time. She was only in my room for a few minutes. She started crying and then she turned her head as if someone was calling her. Probably my dad.

 

                 *

A man wearing a suit and holding a clipboard came into the room. He was followed by my brother and my dad. My brother looked sad, but it didn’t look real. Almost like he was pretending. My dad had this this stern look on his face, like he was all business. The man asked them a couple of questions but I couldn't hear what they were saying. I tried tackling the man but nothing happened. I sat in the corner of my room and watched them until they left.

 

                *

Jorge my friend came to see me today. Well I don't know if he came to see me, but he came into my room. He was sipping on a 40 oz. He spilled a little on the floor. I laughed. It reminded me of a rap video or something. I tried lapping up the beer. It didn't work. Death is complete sobriety.

 

               *

Somebody, a voice told me, to be patient. That I don't have long to go. Whatever the hell that means. I'd give anything for a Philly cheesesteak. Or maybe to get laid one last time. Ah! No use wishing for things that are impossible now.

 

               *

Sad news. My brother came into my room today. His chest was heaving up and down. His eyes swollen and red. I tried to tell him that everything was okay. That things weren't as bad as they seemed. That living was better than dying. I don't think he could hear me. He pulled out a gun hidden in the small of his back. The same gun that ended my life. He screamed at the wall. I could see his tonsils. He put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. He fell to the floor. My mom came rushing in and I could see her screaming. I couldn't hear a thing. I saw his spirit or whatever, at this point I have no clue, turn to me, wave and smile. Then he disappeared.

 

             *

The world looks bright and brand new. I'm in a crib. Two big faces are staring up at me, smiling. I'm......................................

                          

                     

 

 

Reviews

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

I find you sense of laying it all out there, regardless of the intrepid moral anguish that as a reader we tend to diplay. Wild and grotesque as all writers needs to be, well done, great read.

[Twisted]

Hey,... :3 This was really something! I don't know how to describe it, it was so good. The beginning was wild. I thought it would turn into a detective story, but you put a nice twist that had me hooked like a fish! ^_^

[mark slade]

that was wild. i liked it. definitely experimental. it was almost haiku in story form.

[roarke]

The Limbo Diary. I liked the "it is what it is" attitude and pace, it was fitting. The beginning was complicated, death was not, that evolution worked. There lots of places you could shoot off of, take side trips, contemplate other ethereal platitudes, this is the kind of piece you experiment with treatments on.

I might switch up and not be so blatant at the end, just start off trying to get inside a new born's head and let the reader figure it out. Like all cerebral with no labels or definitions.... just an idea.