Petite Narative

I remember the time that I died; I lay prostrate on the pavement in the front of an auto shop on one of the coldest nights of the year. It happened quickly and although the timing was imperfect and the scenario seemed surreal, I remember that it didn't hurt- or perhaps it did but my heightened senses refused to let me experience what I had come to know as pain. I can only recall one other time that I was injured in a manner that others would consider grave but that I was unable to experience the extent of those injuries; I was 18 and had just been hit by a pick up truck on my motorcycle. Life is funny like that.

As I lay there on that cold pavement succumbing to my injuries I felt a wave of fear overcome my conscious, then I began to sympathise with my attacker; he must have been desperate, right? I grew colder, and the fear subsided and was replaced with serenity and then the most bizarre thing happened, I had forgotten I was dying and could only think about the inconvenience of being outside on the coldest night of the year to date. I mean, I was beyond irate that my assailant couldn't have killed me in a more convenient, at least for me, place.  

I swear to God that I must've been dying for over an hour, but time seems to register more slowly as you become one with the universe and slip into the bigger picture of ions and atoms and all things quantum. From the time my boyfriend scurried back to the car to grab his pack of cigarettes to the time I fell to the floor spilling what seemed to be quart after quart of precious hemoglobin, it couldn't have been more than two tangible minutes.

The discovery of my body made by my boyfriend was perplexing; he wore this mask I'd never seen before- it was all the emotions he'd never shared with me, or perhaps, never got the chance to, showing themselves to me and I felt uneasy because I couldn't console him properly. His mouth opened wide and he began to speak, maybe yell, I couldn't really comprehend at this point because I was too involved with what was going on with me to pay mind to him; tears began to roll down his face and it was at this moment that I knew I was going away.

I had recalled a conversation I had with an ex-lover of mine long past, we'd spoken of the moment of death and I'd divulged that the thought of death had frightened me, but his reply resonated with me at this moment "it's nothing to fear because you die and then its over" and he was right.

Drifting still, I returned back to the scene, my death, and noticed that my mate was pleading with me to hold on, to stay, and as he held my hand I remember how irritated I was that he was asking for a lot of me when he knew I couldn't deliver. What a jerk.

I really wanted to sit up. I tried to sit up, but god damnit I just couldn't talk to the rest of my body. It was fucking cold out there and so before I decided to take a nap, I looked up at my boyfriend and I told him, that it was cool, "like, it doesn't hurt or anything" and then he just stopped and so did I.