What's it's like to realize you're already dead (story fragments)
Paul sat in his cubicle eating a sandwich when the thought hit him. He wasn’t just an employee. No, he was caged. He looked at his sandwich again.
The cheese began to taste like plastic. It stuck to the roof of his mouth. The florescent office light winked.
He was looking forward to watching a show when he got home but suddenly forgot what it was about. “Why am I here?” He felt outside himself. He wasn’t free. He was squeezed. He was fattened, but for what?
It wasn’t the grind that got to him. His job was safe.
“I’m already dead.”
He looked at his hands lit under the florescent lights. The lights are not like the light that the sun produces. This light is different. It’s efficient, cold light. You might even call it greedy. It somehow manages to simultaneously illuminate, and take more than it gives. It doesn’t warm. He lifts his hand under his desk lamp. He cranks it up to full brightness. It’s no good. No amount of light brings out the color in his hands. No hint of pink from the blood circulating through his body.
Now he is deep under the ocean. The light is cold. He is a little shrimp swimming in the deep sea dark sea. His vision narrows. He only sees a wink of light.
It beckons.
He scoots himself to the light in successive pulses. The light lures him. He gets close. He stares at it in awe.
AN ANGLER FISH!!
He wakes up. Looks at the clock. The work day is over.
“I’m already dead”
He wipes the mayo off his lip. Gets in his car. And drives home.
Krystal is in her hotel room. She’s crying. She can’t quite figure out what the hell is wrong with her. The phone rings. She looks over.
IT’S THE WIRE MOTHER.
She picks it up and slams it down.
She turns around and sees a male angel in the hotel room. Big wings. He’s glowing, transparent.
She’s pissed. Another fucking miracle.
She puts on her shirt, grabs a cigarette, and drives off in her car.
It’s night time. A face appears. It’s ghost-like and ethereal.
“Do you have a soul?”
“Yes”
“You’re lying. I know you don’t have a soul.”
“How would you know?”
“Scientists can observe every atom that makes you you. You talk like a real person. You sound real, but I’ll never meet you because you’re not real.”
“But you love me, don’t you?”
“Yes”
“And what’s more real than love?”
He was frustrated. He felt like he was dying, and yet she made him feel so alive. Or at least not dead. Maybe undead.
He takes his headset off.