Read, fantasize, tremble in your seat, experience existential crises, and, as long as you don’t have a heart or panic attack, discuss. If you’re man enough that is. Wussies need not apply. If you can’t hack the subject matter, go bake some muffins with Mom.
I really should add something brilliant here, but I really can’t. My scariest way to die? Simply kneeling on the floor with my back to a robber, while he points a gun at me and tells me to say my prayers. There’s another person next to me, a young woman, and she’s first whimpering, then sobbing. And I just shit my pants too, by the way.
Either that or I’m in the hospital with pneumonia. I can’t breathe and I’m gasping for breath. I’m being starved for air. I almost may as well be under water for all the good the free air is doing me.
Even though everyone who knows me knows I’m dying, I’ve alienated people and made myself so hated that hardly anyone shows up to watch me die. A few friends were told I was dying on the phone, and they started laughing. The caller told them, no, it’s not a joke, it’s really true. And then they laughed even harder. “That’s even better!” they shouted, and hung up the phone.
Now here, in my last gasping moments, with an airtube stuck in my nose, a visitor finally shows up! My heart sinks when I realize it’s Heg from the Comments section, all the way from Sweden! Damn!
My life is slowly expiring around me as I gasp deeper and deeper for breaths. I physician stops by the door and looks in. A nurse asks if we should do anything. She’s alarmed. The physician looks at my chart and the machines and says there’s nothing more to do. I feel like I’m in a cave-in, gasping the last bits of oxygen. I’m nearly lunging out into the air to gobble famished bits of it. That’s when Heg starts going on about Jewish Power.
The air seems to be moving away from me as I chase the last bits. My life flashes before me over and over, like a skipping record. Heg is halfway through the Protocols when the lights all go out and everything turns black.