I’m Dying (Not)

It’s always a shock, to have a dream where you’re the walking dead. In the dream, death was nothing but sleep, and my eyelids felt pulled down, down. When I woke up in a coffin, I was shocked.

“But you’re dead,” my brother said, “so here’s your coffin.”

I said, “It couldn’t be!”

But when my father came home. He was a little surprised at the fact that I was walking. But he wasn’t so surprised. I told him that I couldn’t be dead, and that I wasn’t. He said, yes you are. And I said, no. And touched his arm.

It was a chilly day, and my fingers were cold. My dad said that I was so cold. I said, that’s just my fingers. And elbowed him. I was still cold. My breath was cold, too. And the realization that I was dead hit me. I just felt the blow head on. I couldn’t believe it, but I was dead. I remembered this blog.

Oddly, I sulked over to the laptop, feeling my “un”-life running out, and opened this page, titled it “I’m Dying.”

And I woke up.