(no subject)
I died today. It was in a car, I think. I don't remember why I was in a car and I don't know where we were. I say "we" because there was someone else with me though I don't even know who.
We were parked or pulled over somewhere and then the person next to me died. Rather, the person was killed by someone.
I don't remember if I screamed, yelled, or even panicked. All I know is I didn't move. Not even as the person, a man, I think, came over to my side of the car.
He raised a gun and still I did nothing except to pull a sheet or some piece of clothing over my face and part of my body.
He said something. I don't remember what it was. Maybe it made me easier to kill. Maybe harder.
I held my breath. I shut my eyes. I don't know why. It might have made one of us disappear. It might have made me invulnerable. It might have just made me feel better.
I could sense when the gun was fired. I didn't hear it, though. I sensed the bullet coming at me, but it didn't hit.
I waited for awhile. I waited for something to happen. I couldn't stand it much longer, I had to breathe. I let out the stale air and lowered the covering from my face.
I saw the bullet hole in my shirt. There was something warm running down my back. My shirt was covered in blood.
My blood.
I sat there, a little bewildered. I had been shot. Killed by a stranger. Such a tragic sob story.
I didn't feel anything, though. Not the bullet when it ripped through my chest cavity. There wasn't any sorrow or anger. Mostly I felt confusion, but it wasn't the kind that pressed for answers.
I got up and out of the car and felt the unpleasantness of a wet shirt sticking to my back. I looked around but couldn't see anybody. The gun was on the ground. I looked at the thing, so full of hatred for me it had killed me. I tapped it cautiously with my foot before walking around it as if it was an angry bee hive.
As I walked, I thought that I didn't exactly feel dead. I felt like a person who happened to have been born with a few gaping wounds.
I saw people and waved. One or two looked in my direction, but none could see me. It's like they saw me out of the corner of their eye, but lost me when they looked.
I was still bleeding. It was fast becoming annoying. It had made its way to the backs of my legs and some of the blood on my shirt was cold and drying.
But I couldn't stop thinking I was dead. I died today.
What a way to start the day.
We were parked or pulled over somewhere and then the person next to me died. Rather, the person was killed by someone.
I don't remember if I screamed, yelled, or even panicked. All I know is I didn't move. Not even as the person, a man, I think, came over to my side of the car.
He raised a gun and still I did nothing except to pull a sheet or some piece of clothing over my face and part of my body.
He said something. I don't remember what it was. Maybe it made me easier to kill. Maybe harder.
I held my breath. I shut my eyes. I don't know why. It might have made one of us disappear. It might have made me invulnerable. It might have just made me feel better.
I could sense when the gun was fired. I didn't hear it, though. I sensed the bullet coming at me, but it didn't hit.
I waited for awhile. I waited for something to happen. I couldn't stand it much longer, I had to breathe. I let out the stale air and lowered the covering from my face.
I saw the bullet hole in my shirt. There was something warm running down my back. My shirt was covered in blood.
My blood.
I sat there, a little bewildered. I had been shot. Killed by a stranger. Such a tragic sob story.
I didn't feel anything, though. Not the bullet when it ripped through my chest cavity. There wasn't any sorrow or anger. Mostly I felt confusion, but it wasn't the kind that pressed for answers.
I got up and out of the car and felt the unpleasantness of a wet shirt sticking to my back. I looked around but couldn't see anybody. The gun was on the ground. I looked at the thing, so full of hatred for me it had killed me. I tapped it cautiously with my foot before walking around it as if it was an angry bee hive.
As I walked, I thought that I didn't exactly feel dead. I felt like a person who happened to have been born with a few gaping wounds.
I saw people and waved. One or two looked in my direction, but none could see me. It's like they saw me out of the corner of their eye, but lost me when they looked.
I was still bleeding. It was fast becoming annoying. It had made its way to the backs of my legs and some of the blood on my shirt was cold and drying.
But I couldn't stop thinking I was dead. I died today.
What a way to start the day.