[83 / 15 / 26]
Quoted By: >>5771938
The worst chest pain you’ve ever known, or imagined ever could be known, wakes you up from a mightily deep sleep. You’re coughing before you’re even awake. Somehow a mad assortment of debris has deposited itself in your esophagus. If you weren’t in excruciating pain, the psychological damage of the dirt, bugs, and dust exiting your mouth might have seriously affected your mood.
Instead, you just wanted to go back to sleep.
It was the moment after that thought, that you realized you had no idea where the hell you were, who the hell you were, or why you were in a claustrophobic box. Made of cheap wood. Fitting the dimensions of your body exactly.
“Oh- oh god, oh god <span class="mu-s">FUCK</span>!”
Many people make great note of a person’s first words, or their last. Looking back, the first words of your undeath sum the situation up quite nicely. Wrapped it all up, bow on top.
Now, as the narrator, I could lead you through the enterprising feat of escaping five feet and a half of soggy dirt, plus six inches of turf, buuut… I mean, you’ve seen Kill Bill, ain’t you? I don’t really have to get into detail, I don’t think.
But man, that first breath of fresh air does you wonders. The stark moonlight, however, don’t. Nobody who once lived takes very well to seeing their body all necrotic like. Your tendons, green and slightly moldy, contract and release as you test your grip. Your skin looks like paper mache. The raggedy ass three piece- hey now, at least whoever buried you bought a suit- has so many holes in it you're practically wearing shorts. Shin bones glisten in the soft light. You can feel all the maggots and bugs panicking in your guts. The small colony down there is having a similar sort of existential crisis. At least you have sympathizers. Not that they aren’t eating you, of course. That'd be the chest pain.
You turn around to review your headstone. It's blank.
That really sets you off. I mean, here goes practically the one right of the dead in any damn civilized country and the bastards don’t bother even finishing the damn job. I mean, you could have at least found some kind of county records building with that damn name, and gotten back a fucking social security number. How the hell are you supposed to get a fucking job? Like a goddamned illegal? It just don’t fucking figure, do it?!
Instead, you just wanted to go back to sleep.
It was the moment after that thought, that you realized you had no idea where the hell you were, who the hell you were, or why you were in a claustrophobic box. Made of cheap wood. Fitting the dimensions of your body exactly.
“Oh- oh god, oh god <span class="mu-s">FUCK</span>!”
Many people make great note of a person’s first words, or their last. Looking back, the first words of your undeath sum the situation up quite nicely. Wrapped it all up, bow on top.
Now, as the narrator, I could lead you through the enterprising feat of escaping five feet and a half of soggy dirt, plus six inches of turf, buuut… I mean, you’ve seen Kill Bill, ain’t you? I don’t really have to get into detail, I don’t think.
But man, that first breath of fresh air does you wonders. The stark moonlight, however, don’t. Nobody who once lived takes very well to seeing their body all necrotic like. Your tendons, green and slightly moldy, contract and release as you test your grip. Your skin looks like paper mache. The raggedy ass three piece- hey now, at least whoever buried you bought a suit- has so many holes in it you're practically wearing shorts. Shin bones glisten in the soft light. You can feel all the maggots and bugs panicking in your guts. The small colony down there is having a similar sort of existential crisis. At least you have sympathizers. Not that they aren’t eating you, of course. That'd be the chest pain.
You turn around to review your headstone. It's blank.
That really sets you off. I mean, here goes practically the one right of the dead in any damn civilized country and the bastards don’t bother even finishing the damn job. I mean, you could have at least found some kind of county records building with that damn name, and gotten back a fucking social security number. How the hell are you supposed to get a fucking job? Like a goddamned illegal? It just don’t fucking figure, do it?!
