Of Death, Dying and Morbid Thoughts


I am dying, I am very sure of that, and no one, I repeat, no one can save me, it was the shot I felt before I even heard it. And then that is it. But then how long does it take to die of bullet wound?  Hours, seconds, nanoseconds, I may even be already dead, but then dead people don’t think? How can I tell? I have never been dead before.  It is so difficult to tell, or perhaps I am just hanging between that space between life and death, like the space between sleep and full wakefulness, how long have I been having this conversation with myself?   Days? Hours?, minutes?, seconds?  How long ago was it that I heard the shot? Again I have no way of telling. I have absolutely no sense of time at all.

I am dying, or may even be already dead, or maybe undead, as in the vampire movies. Now that would be too bad. I don’t wish to be a vampire, agreed the lure of immortality is difficult to resist, plus the ability to jump up walls and to run like the wind.  No, I don’t like that sort of twisted life. Wait did I just say that about vampires? Did I even believe they were real while I was alive, (or at least when I was not dying)? Well I guess your mind just thinks up plenty of nonsense when you are dying—or dead.  The place I am now is difficult to describe. I seem to be unable to use any of my senses, I cannot see this place, cannot touch it, cannot perceive it through any other sense for that matter, so I am not alive, but then I can think, so I know that I might not be dead yet, but I will reach that stage soon enough… if I haven’t reached it already.

Okay I am dying; this should be the point where the skeletal grim-looking guy with the black robe and the long scythe should be nearby to finish the job that the bullet started.  Maybe he would be not be carrying a scythe, scythes are so old fashioned,  plus they are only useful for close killing, if believe if he keeps engaging people in close hand to hand combat he is bound to lose one battle soon enough.  He would probably be carrying a pistol, No not a pistol, probably a AK-47 complete with laser rangefinder so that he can hit from any range he wants. He would also be able shoot as many rounds as possible and no one would never be able to survive his attack.

I am dying, so I guess I should be able to see what dead people see anytime from now, is it going to be swimming across a river, or is it going to be jumping over a fence?  or  maybe I am going to walk through a gate, I like that idea of scaling a fence, one moment you are on one side, and then in an instant you are gone, I also fancy the idea of a gate, you walk through and then it shuts behind you with a mighty clang. Swimming across a river would be such a serious bother. I believe  I should know what heaven looks like from now, like that musician said, “ will I be in heavenly places singing hallelujah with an angel on the piano or will I just be a mist just flowing around?” what is her name again?  Is the person her or him? I’m sure it is her. But I can’t remember her name. If I cannot remember her name how am I to give her answer to that question?  I should also see dead people, I should see…. wait I can’t remember any dead person I know, well maybe that because I am now dead too and they are no longer dead anymore. But then I cannot remember the name of any living person either. Well maybe that is because I am no longer alive. Is this what death feels like, blotting out your memories so that you can no longer remember things?  I wish I could even see somebody whether living or dead, how can everyone be heartless enough to leave me all alone here

I am dying, anyway dying does feel a lot like sleep, but then I don’t think in my sleep, but here  am I still thinking. Maybe I am not dying after all, maybe the bullet missed, maybe I wasn’t hit maybe somebody pushed me away from that bullet before I was hit or maybe someone got me to an hospital in time and maybe someone did save me in the end, maybe deep down I don’t  wish to die, or maybe really I don’t want to die by the bullet, I have always fantasized about dying in my bed of old age. No! I think I want to really be dying, for what reason I cannot say, it is not a welcome relief from anything, because I cannot even feel relief.  I have a feeling that my time here is up it is time to wake up, wait! Wake up to life, or wake up to death, wake up to death? Isn’t that ironical afterall?

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3 thoughts on “Of Death, Dying and Morbid Thoughts

  1. Very lovely story. Kudos 2 d writer but I must add that that last line is a spoiler. U didn’t av 2 tell us abt d irony of waking up 2 death. Made it seem like u were trying 2 put d point in our brains. Again, kudos

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