It has been a week since Part 6 of May’s Project. Not good, I know. How about a list of excuses:
- Busy at school: exam workshops, marking, etc.
- Running: been putting in a bit of extra effort.
- Still looking after mother-in-law’s dog: he is very annoying.
- Actually finding the whole short story writing quite difficult. No idea where the story is going, no plan, I’m just writing AND on top of that I need to try and get to an ending that actually makes sense!?
So here goes, another short one….
Part 7
I was now looking down on myself, a body laying on a table, I felt nothing, no fear, no worry, nothing. It was as if I was dead. But I was dead?
The coroner calmly approached the lifeless body. He carefully lifted the scalpel from the tray, the blade glistened in the overhead lights. Was this it? Was this what death was? I was dead on a gurney, surely that was it. What was I waiting for? The heart to be cut out? The soul to be destroyed? Or perhaps this was what happened after death, you were left in this weird lifeless existence. I would seem that I only had a matter of minutes until I found out.
He began speaking into the microphone, “The chest has considerable bruising….this would indicate extreme trauma shortly before death….about to make the Y incision….what’s that….is someone there….?” He looked around a confused look on his face. He spun round, dropping the scalpel and scattering various other tools of his trade across the floor. “Who’s there?!” His shouts sounded desperate. The coroner’s calm exterior had disappeared, replaced by a tense, psychotic image of himself.
There was no one else in the room. He began pacing about the room looking for something, I could see the fear on his face. He began shouting, incomprehensible words that echoed throughout the room. “Away…..wrong…..rising…blood….death…..darkness!” Suddenly he dropped his head, seemingly afraid of what he might see. Darkness? Then it dawned on me what I was watching. I was watching a man experiencing exactly what I had gone through for the past two months. He could feel ‘it’ too.
[To be continued]
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