Dead to the World

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
let me tell you about the time i died.

Submitted: November 19, 2018

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Submitted: November 19, 2018

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Let me tell you about the time I died. Don’t be like that. I’m being serious here. I know, I know, how can I tell the story if I’m dead? To tell the truth, I’ve wondered about that myself. The best I can come up with is that there are different levels of dead. It makes sense when you stop to think about it. In ventricular tachycardia and ventricular fibrillation, your heart is not beating. There’s no pulse. You are dead, but not all the way dead. Apply a sudden blow to the chest from an EMT’s hairy fist or a jolt of electricity and ---boom, you’re back. Then, there’s asystole, the familiar flat line. No one is going to shock that back to life. In some cultures, the line between dead and alive is even more ambiguous. It’s kind of hard for me to say those beliefs are wrong. I mean; here I am.

It started out like any other day. I hit the snooze for the fifth time still struggling to get my eyes open. 
“Get up,” my wife growled and slugged me in the back. 
I jumped out of bed; blindly reached in the closet for clothes and dashed out of the house still struggling to get my coat on. Steering with my knees, I had my tie knotted by the third stop light. I dodged around a couple of secretaries standing in the hall and slid into my desk as the second hand reached the twelve. It was time for a coffee break.

Experts say bright computer screens are a hindrance to sleep. Proving them wrong, once again, I nodded while pretending to work until noon. Benny and I decided to go to an Italian place down the street for lunch. He had linguine. I stepped out of character and went for the Alfredo goat cheese and spinach ravioli. I was back at my desk by 1:15, refreshed and ready.

I looked over the Bimmel file and put it back in the “Not now”folder. I was searching for something a bit easier to start out with when a scream pierced the air.

“ALLAHU ACKBAR!”

The sound was followed by automatic rifle fire. I peeked out my office door. I coast was clear. I ran---right into Benny. It took a moment to untangle our limbs. 
“The other way,” I told him. “C’mon.” 
We made it to the first floor unscathed only to find a second terrorist had the front door blocked. We took refuge behind one of the receptionist’s desks. I groaned as my stomach began to rumble and churn. 
“Oh no, not now,” I whispered. 
“Seriously?” Benny asked. “Now?” 
The Bible says there’s a time for every purpose under heaven, a time to fart and a time to refrain from farting. Well, not quite exactly like that, but you get the idea. Unfortunately, my digestive tract has a mind of its own and is not much on Bible reading. Still, I prayed.

My prayers were answered. The passing of silent gas was never so welcome. It didn’t last. I heard the terrorist inhale deeply. Footsteps, he was searching. 
“Mara?” the terrorist said. “Mara is that you? Where are you, you naughty little goat? I know you’re here somewhere.” 
From the corner of my eye, I saw guy with a dish towel on his head searching the desks on the other side of the room. I shoved Benny to his feet. He bolted for the front door with me on my heels. 
“Infidels, come back with my goat.” 
The glass doors shattered in front of us. Bullets flew above our heads. I leaped through the now empty door frame and ran into the street. Curses and gunfire followed. Benny’s quick and has this big 'fro. I kept my eyes on that hair and ran. Suddenly, Benny went down to one knee. I thought he was hit, but my despair turned to joy when I saw the black and white parked in the middle of the street. I’m not politically inclined. I hurdled over Benny as he sat there on one knee.

I was by the cops before they opened fire. From the shelter of a parked car on the far side of the street, I pause for a look back. A round took Abdul in the center of his chest. His arms flew up into the air as he twisted with the impact. His finger closed on the trigger in a death grip and the weapon came to life. Lead filled the air above the narrow street. The terrorist went down, but not before he inflicted more damage. The wild shots ripped through the support struts of the giant donut atop Jerry’s Donuts. The ten-foot pastry crashed down from the roof and rolled down the street.

It was the first time a donut ever ate a cop. Both policemen were down, their cruiser crushed and covered with giant sprinkles. The donut was launched into the air. It bounced on the corner of Lemon and Maple and continued rolling down Maple Street.

In the intersection, a semi with Lays printed on the side swerved to avoid the runaway donut. The truck jackknifed. The back end of the truck clipped a Dominoes delivery driver. The doors of the truck flew open strewing Maple Street with hundreds of bags of assorted Fritos and Cheetos. The odor of corn, chili, and processed cheese filled the air. I was surrounded by the sound of wailing sirens.

I wasn’t out of danger yet. The Dominoes driver hit a light post and was spinning out of control right for me. Someone was calling my name.

“Jack, Jack wake up. You’re having a nightmare. I told you midnight junk food would kill you. Don’t you ever listen?”


© Copyright 2020 jack lafountain. All rights reserved.

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