The day I died I smoked six cigarettes. My eyes were abnormally huge. I was sober. The sky was gray, it had not changed for days. All over the world there were people. All over the place. I thought of all of them. I thought about the time I ran away to the circus ended up living with the lion trainers son for a week. We took a shower together, he washed my back as I held his hand. His mom’s four year old daughter swallowed her psych pills and died. I took the bus home in silence.
I died on the floor. As it was happening, I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. It takes a lot of nerve. I had paced the house through the kitchen down the stairs clenching my teeth, the birds were singing.
I think this place I am now is called the middle? It is just a pink fog. Cotton candy, faces in the mist. It is loud here with all these people screaming. They don’t seem scared, just confused. It took me about two hours to die. It was painless. I had no problems with it taking so long. I had nowhere else to go. I moved a bit some, was it five minutes ago? Over to a clearing and there was this long line of people waiting to talk with this guy writing on a desk. He was crouched on top of the desk in a white robe, talking to himself. Stamping people on the forehead with a pen. The people that got stamped vanished, the people that didn’t went to the right. This place is really weird.