Living Dead Man

Death seems to be very predictable for me as of late. This is the second time in five years I have come to one of these pointless funerals and have been stuck sitting in the pouring rain. It was just another one of those days, you know? One where the weather just makes you feel like huddling under the fire and sleeping all day- with the light drizzle of rain tapping melodically against the rooftop, almost lulling you to sleep in seconds. Unfortunately for me I currently didn't have that warm and fuzzy feeling inside my stomach. I took a small and bitter inhale of my cigarette that sat snuggly between my fingers, and closed my eyes. The taste of tobacco had killed my nerves years ago so every time I put this little white-colored tube unto my tongue I just tasted dirty saliva and breathed in thick globs of tainted air.
I parted my lips and felt the hot and dry, gray aura swim around my lips and melt away into the rain. I raised my face to stare blindly at the weeping heavens with an exasperated sigh. The small beads felt like nothing more than needles stabbing at my numb cheeks and soaked auburn locks, almost making me wish I was under a blanket like most of you rain-lovers. But, on days like this, that is never the case for me. No matter how much I wished I was that person hiding under those warm comforters against a twitching flame licking at my cold limbs, I was the man standing in the rain, watching the sobbing crowd of black in the distance.
I suppose there have been days where you thought about dying. Maybe it was days like this. You know, thought about your funeral and the like. Maybe you imagined how many people would show up: seeing those who would shed tears and the others who would be holding back dancing on it. But what about the thought of actually seeing and answering you own questions rather than just imagining? I never thought of this idea. And frankly I never really wanted too. And yet here I am, watching these groups of my no-longer close friends and ex-‘family’ lower an empty casket that should have contained my body. But I’m used to this image already. I mean, this isn’t the first time I’ve had a funeral.

My name is Donovan Bishop. And this is the sixth time I have watched my own funeral. All because of one simple fact: I can't die.





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