The Art Of Dying

**This is unedited and very rough, please excuse the mistakes. The title isn't the offical title but a mere placement holder.


The silhouette of the man paces back and forth. The room is in ruins and his conscious is struggling to survive. Grey smoke circling towards the ceiling, rising and escape through the gigantic hole leading towards the night sky. The room has manifested a smell similar to a brush fire roaming a well known forest. The man gently walks upon the debris unfamiliar to what cause this catastrophe. His memory has been ripped apart and confusion is knocking at the door of his mental state. He has lost his sense of smell and sound. He places his hand on his chest and feels his lung at work but when placing his hands in front of his nostrils, he fells nothing. He hears the muffled silence similar to a soldier in war bombarded with explosions. The man walks towards the front door that is slightly bent open due to it’s broken hedges. He finds himself stumbling towards the ground before he could take the first step. He closes his eyes for a moment to regain his balance. As his eyelids lay shut covering his eyes, he sees himself looking into a mirror. Inside the mirror, he finds himself stripped naked and black markings all over his body. Frighten by the imagery, he opens his eyes and carefully walks towards the door.

The man steps outside and attempts to take a deep breathe showing a sign of relief, but still, no air is entering or leaving his respiratory system. He sits down on the porch for a few minutes to recollect his thoughts, at least those that are still present. His insides feel abnormally light and his body feels weightless. Recalling the moment when he was walking around his collapsed house, he begins to take apart his short term memory reel. He walked above the debris, seeing himself stepping upon it but not actually feeling anything underneath is bare feet. He remembers pushing the door to the side to get through, but not actually feeling his hands forcing strength upon the wooden door. As he observes and experiences his actions, he is interrupted by the sound of paws pressing against the grass. He shifts his head towards the left and sees a black dog the size of a toy poodle. He stands up the express friendly gesture of petting the stray dog. As he moves, the dogs stands statue like preying it’s eyes upon the man. The man crotches down with a smile on his face as he gets ready to slide his hand on the dog’s back. As his hands touches the dog, he feels a burning sensation in his palm erupt instantly. He pulls back in shock but attempts once more. As his palm is placed, he sees a vibration expressed between his hand and the dog’s back. The vibration resembles the movement of the water when little children skip rocks across a lake. The vibration expands around the dog and begins flashing a small hint of yellow. Straddled and overwhelmed with confusion, the man stands up quickly. The dog shakes as if he was just hosed down with water, and starts walking in the opposite direction.

Everything moves in slow motion and the colors are vibrantly bright. The man walks around town slowly gazing at his surroundings as if he has never seen them before. He has taken in the fact that things are stranger than normal but he still hasn’t grasped the concept. He has entered the busiest part of town but instead of seeing combusted traffic jams and people roaming the side walks, he sees everything empty as if a plague had swept the town the night before. He continues to walk and he sees movement in the distance. He can’t make what is creating the movement so he walks towards it with curiosity by his side. Still feeling weightlessness, he walks with the implication that if he jumps, he’ll fly away.

A man dressed in a white business coat sits down on the bench. He looks straight in front of him with a nearly perfect smile on his face. The man approaching assumes he is simply the only customer shopping in this silent evening. He intends to walk passed him without making eye contact. As he passes the uncanny stranger on the bench, he hears a gentle voice emerge from behind him.

“How does it feel Mr. Deliadave?” speaks the voice behind the evening walker. The man turns around, opens his mouth to speak and says, “Excuse me, how does what feel?”

The bench stranger erupts with laughing but quiet enough to not disturb anyone near. “How does it feel to be dead?”

The evening walker widens his eyes, showing the human facial expression for astonishment yet confusion. “Sir, if you’ve had too many drinks than that’s your problem. I am very much alive.”

The bench stranger smiles and shakes his head in a joyous fashion. “Very much alive, eh? How about when you touched the dog and felt the vibrations due to the contact of the living and…..well, not so living?”

The evening walker is now outrage since he automatically made the connection that he has been followed. “So have you been following me all night long? I have been walking around all night and last time I checked, dead people can’t do that.”

The bench stranger moves to the sit to give room for the even walker to sit down. “Sit down Mr. Deliadave, and I’ll explain a few things that are going on.”

At first doubtful, the evening walker decides to give it a shot and listen to what this man has to say. After all, there is no harm in listening. He sits down next to the bench stranger and looks at him directly in the eyes and a chilling sensation emerges from his spine as if he was looking into the eyes of God.

The bench stranger makes a sign of indifference, looks at Mr. Deliadave, and begins reciting something that seems to have been told countless amounts of times.

“Sorry to be the bringers of bad news, but you aren’t alive anymore. I haven’t been told the full set of details but there was a fire at your home in which was the cause of your death. You feel a sense of weightless correct? You feel as if your insides are missing correct? Well the living, need their body mechanics to function but the dead need, well not a lot. “

The bench stranger stopped talking for Mr. Deliadave to take in what he was saying. Mr. Deliadave was confused and skeptical at first and didn’t know what to make of it. The feeling as if a gust of wind came; he would easily be taken upon the air. During his life, he never took recognition on the theory of life after death. He sits down on the bench that could be burning hot or freezing cold, but he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. He sits in silence with the stranger and he closes his eyes once again to relax from the terrifying and hard to believe news he’s just heard.

Left and right. Covers and no covers. Mr. Deliadave struggles to keep his conscious at rest as he lies in bed. Something doesn’t feel right. Usually, he call fall asleep as if he was injected with a sleeping medication within seconds. He attempts to put his thoughts aside and relaxes so he can finally get some sleep. “Keep calm and sleep,” he whispers to himself for assurance.

Flashing sirens outside of his house. Fire ablazing throughout his belongings. His leg is pinned down by his bookshelf and pain erupts through his nervous system. Lying there for his last minutes of life, he looks at his surroundings. The fire eats away his haven as if it was acting as the disease on a cancerous patient. The wallpaper is peeling like a flower losing its petals for the season. The overwhelming heat is causing Mr. Deliadave to sweat as if a sudden downpour has taken effect over his disconnecting body. As he feels his heart to slowly slow down and the burns across his body to scorn his flesh, he opens his mouth. As no one is around to hear his final statement, he opens his mouth wide enough to speak.

“You just experienced a flashback of your death. It will continue to happen for some time. Don’t be startled when you find yourself drooling and your mind somewhere else, it’s perfectly normal for someone in your condition”.

Mr. Deliadave takes his lifeless hand and whips away the drool from his mouth and finds himself lying in the ground in front of the bench. He stands up and looks around as if he was embarrassed to be seen on the dirty worn sidewalk. He faces the man on the bench and he lowers his eyebrows to show the human facial expression for anger.

“What did I say?” asks Mr. Deliadave to the stranger that happens to know more about his life than he knows about himself.

The man looks uncomfortable and shifts his weight to the left. “What do you mean?” Mr. Deliadave is annoyed his lack of knowledge of what is occurring.

“Before I died, I said something. In my flashback, I saw myself lying there, with burns all over my body and before the flashback ended, I saw myself getting ready to speak. What did I say?”

The bench stranger is in shock as if he has just been told the world was ending. He whipped his hands on his pants leg and once again, shifts his body weight to the other direction. He is nervous and he is confined by Mr. Deliadave’s claim to have spoken before his death.

“That’s impossible. Before your last few seconds of life, you are unable to speak or make any contact with the world. Your organs begin to lose their function before your actual death. Your organs are aware of the death to come so to save their ability to function, they shut down. Organs are recycled to the next person to be born. It’s hard to explain so I don’t expect you to understand. It’s impossible for you to have spoken out loud seconds before your death.”

Mr. Deliadave is uneasy. He strongly dislikes someone accusing him of being a liar when he knows what he saw.

“Listen, as much as you say it’s impossible, it happened. I don’t understand what is happening to me or what you are talking about. I spoke before I died whether you like it or not. If my organs are recycled and not functioning, than why can I still talk?”

The man stands up in shock and starts pacing around in a small invisible circle on the sidewalk. He speaks but in a fast paced manner like he has some place to go. “You aren’t necessary in the same dimension you were living in when you are alive, things work differently here. I have to go. This has never happened before.”

The evening walker looks around him as if trying to identify how this stranger is going to get to his destination. He is confused. He would be feeling a sense of nausea but he can no longer feel any sort of pain or contact with his surroundings. He would cry for help but no one is around to help. He would run away but he has no where to go. He calms his panic attack and looks towards the stranger.

“Tell me what has never happened before. You can’t just leave me here not knowing that is going on. I have no house to go to home to. I have no one to call. I have no one to talk to. Do me the favor of telling me what is so shocking that you have to leave in such a quick manner. What is your name; I don’t even know your name.”

The stranger looks distracted with something else. He is whispering to himself and placing his arm above him reaching out towards the sky. He makes a fist, than he points out his finger. He begins writing something in mid air as if he was writing with his finger. He draws back his arm and places it next to his side. He looks at Mr. Deliadave with fearful eyes.

“You aren’t necessary dead. It’s hard to explain. This has never happened before; we call it Dysfunctional Connectivity. Dysfunctional Connectivity happens in that rare occasion that the person (you) possesses qualities of both the living and the dead. Currently you are in the dimension attended when one is dead but you might make a transition to the one you grew accustomed any moment now. You are neither living nor dead. This has never happened to me so please excuse me; I have to contact the Superior.”

Mr. Deliadave begins shaking. His entire body is shaking violently. He is scared; he doesn’t understand why this is happening to him. He feels alone, once this stranger leaves, he will have no one. If he was fully alive, this is where his entire body would turn cold and blue. This is where he would turn pale and feel his stomach acid moving up his throat. This is where he would call someone to complain about his problems. But he can’t experience any of these. He is alone; he is nether everything or nothing. He places his eyes upon this stranger he has grown accustomed to his company.

“What is your name?”

The stranger smiles for the first time ever since he began worrying about Mr. Deliadave’s situation. “You can call me The Messenger.”

Before Mr. Deliadave could show the human facial expression for a small amount of happiness, The Messenger turns his back towards him. He extends his arms to each of his sides and he vanishes.

Mr. Deliadave stands alone on the street in a dimension and world he has never experienced. The sun is beginning to rise and as much as he wants, he cannot feel the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck. As much as he wants, he can no longer feel the heartbeat inside of his chest pounding in fright. As much as he hates, he can see the black markings on his skin beginning to become visible. He has no idea what is going to come or what is going to happen but he doesn’t care anymore. He sits down on the bench, closes his eyes and dreams about what it meant to be fully alive.

Exploring Open Waters

My head feels as if someone was bashing it with a four pound iron hammer repetitively. The clock adds up to thirteen with all three digits lined up in perfect organization. Striding from side to side, the instructor exposes his inner feelings towards his pupils. The more I think about this lecture that repeats itself five days a week, the more respect I loose for this instructor. His personal problems and his actions towards his pupils are of no importance to me in my current state of mind.

I simply want to transport myself home in my automobile and be free to do as I please in my own haven. This building that is meant to serve as a knowledge database is quickly producing more negative feelings towards the current state of the youth. Instructors are oblivious to the fact that their lifeless curriculum is unappealing to their pupils. They speak with such intensity that it gives off the impression that they feel superior above others. They manage to disrespect you and quickly judge you simply because they have the title as “instructor” and feel the need to abuse the authority. I believe in the theory that each and every one of us can learn something from others, no matter the position or social status. The abuse of authority is so over whelming that it makes my stomach turn upside and reject incoming ingestion. Instructors seem to be getting worse and worse every year that begins. By the rate of corruption, they’ll be just as worthless as the bums on the streets begging for money to fuel their need to intoxicate themselves.

Not only is this fortress filled with unfortunate instructors, but the pupils are no better. I stride through the halls simply waiting to get to my destination and I am appalled by the words echoing around me. I fix my eyes forward and try to ignore as much as possible but there are some things I’m not able to ignore. I will always soak up what I hear escaping from your mouth and shake my head in utterly disgust for your future.

An area of discussion is the inner need mistaken for a want to intoxicate one’s self constantly. Monday, the beginning of the day and the most dreadful day of the week also serves as a confessional for the weekend’s sins. Every weekend in the lifestyle of the youth is filled with becoming intoxicated, doing things you’ll regret, and having sexual intercourse with others they barely know. Is there anything wrong with this? Is this the new age and revised American dream?

It seems the more you intoxicate yourself and increases your experience in the sex department; the more you are respected amongst your peers. I do not discourage having sexual intercourse with people you love and care about; if you feel it is granted than please do as you wish. I do discourage those who have sex simply to have sex. Those who participate in activities simply because they want to be well liked. If performing sexual activities with strangers makes me well liked, than I’m the most hated male in America. Do yourself a favor and gain some respect for yourself. You claim you have respected yourself yet you use your body for attention and expose your naked body to whoever is interested. You make me sick and the more I think about you, the more I want to visit the neighboring toilet and vomit for hours. You are a disgrace. If you continue to do as you are right now, you might as well slap on a mini-skirt, lace up high heels, and start charging for your services.

Gossip and spread rumors are becoming the newest hobby to define today’s current youth. The attention on other’s personal lives (whether true or false) is rising so quickly that you might as well tell your inner secrets because they’ll eventually get out. Everywhere my footsteps follow me, I hear surrounding conversations gossiping about their “friends” and enemies. You call yourself a friend yet you are just as loyal as a cheating husband is on his wife. You’ll simply spread your friend’s personal information to make you gain in your reputation with positive feedback. The youth is more focused on their reputation that they are willing to do and risk anything possible to benefit them. Loyalty has become an extinct moral ethic which is long and dead and never to be resurfaced again. You don’t necessary feel the outcomes of your gossiping but it will all come back to you with time. It will hit you in your face like a train derailing and slamming into a neighborhood community center. You will never be trusted and taken seriously. You will be a disgrace to anyone that has ever spoken to you. Get inside of your own business and handle your own problems. I assure you, you’re problems are probably far worse than anyone you have ever gossiped about.

To be continued……..