I'm not dead

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a short piece I wrote on the concept of consciousness after "death".

Submitted: May 19, 2017

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Submitted: May 19, 2017



I'm not dead. I wish I could scream these words, but I was unable to move anything. The pathologist was sharpening his scalpel, to do an autopsy on my "deceased" body. I laid on the cold steel table, bright lights in my eyes and consistent beeping in my ears. He walked to a bench for a moment, returning right up to me, and stared deeply into my eyes. I stared back, into his matured eyes and wrinkled skin. He appeared to be in his mid 50's. I lay motionless and prayed he would see life in my dead eyes. Suddenly, he bent down and kissed me tenderly on the cheek. Internally I was screaming, I felt all the pain and horror, with no physical reaction. He quickly stood up and walked off to his bench. I heard gentle rattling and clinking. He returned shortly, brandishing his macabre weaponry. He placed his surgical mask on and covered his hair. He placed the scalpel above my waist. "Here we go.." He said softly, right as he pushed the scalpel in. To him, it was normal, just another autopsy and a dead body. But I laid there, the burning sensation of my flesh tearing unbearable. I wanted to scream. I wanted to jump and get away. But I couldn't. I laid there, suffering the pain. Every second more flesh was torn, and he would venture deeper into my entrails. I felt my intestines squirming around as he pushing and pulled them aside. The pain was indescribable. To feel one's organs shifting about, a most unreal sensation. He suddenly pulled violently on my small intestines, yanking them out of my exposed body. I would've made an inhuman groan If I was only capable of such. "Get out of there you bastard" He shouted at my intestines. He poked around for another minute or so, before arrogantly dropping my organs back inside me. He shuffled slowly towards my head. "Alright, what's next.." He said to himself quietly. "Ah that's right, the intracranial one" He returned to his bench to presumably collect some tools. My anxiety increased to a level where the pain I felt no longer mattered. I heard him walk back slowly, and placed his cold gloved hand on the surface of my freshly shaven head. My heart would be racing, If only it was beating. My anxiety was justified as I heard the ear-piercing scream of a drill. I felt the tip scrape my skull and I felt it slowly drill deeper into my skull. At this point, I was unable to feel pain, likely due to the shock. I laid there, my head rattling with the force of his drill, as he made his way around my skull. I was wishing for death, or was I already dead? Is this the so-called "afterlife"? After what seemed like an endless repetition of suffering, I felt a large chunk of my skull being pulled right off. There are no words to possibly describe how that felt. He disrespectfully dropped the fragment of skull onto something metallic. He cut and sliced my brain into bits as if he was looking for something. He would pull chunks off, and throw them onto something, making a disgusting splat sound. It seemed that with a good part of my brain missing that I would be unable to process what was happening, but sadly I was. Then he stopped. Put all his tools down. Placed his hands on my fractured skull and bent down. He whispered into my ears softly, "You look so much better like this..." He stood up, placed a tray of tools, brain and skulls fragments on a bench and walked out, turning off the lights as he left. "Goodnight" were his finals words before he turned and walked away, as I listened to his echoing footsteps dissipating into the distance, leaving my opened bowls and uncovered brain in the darkness 

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