The Last 7 Seconds

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Scientists say that before we die our whole life flashes by our eyes. That the seven seconds we spend before we die are bizarrely deformed and lengthened until we can re-live it almost real time - a second life, a second time. Can we change the decisions we've made in that second round? Who knows? Has anybody ever died and lived to tell about it?

Submitted: September 13, 2012

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Submitted: September 13, 2012

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Someday you just wake up to find that your whole life has changed. No matter what it was like before, someday you will open your eyes and it will al mesh together unwell suddenly and won't make any sense anymore. Arches of falling rain that suddenly runs upside down, walls where there were once ways that lead to familiar places, a transcendence of lights that now fills every niche of the once darkness laden, filled, steeped corners of your world. It's pay day. It is the day for you to realize what you have done wrong, what you could have done differently, what you did right - but no worries, this part is a short one - and what doomed you to end here. It is your death bed. Those eyes you are opening reveal a sight plunged in blood. Pulsating veins. Slow breaths that make your whole body shake and tremble. It's pay day. It's the day that you die.

Scientists say that before we die our whole life flashes by our eyes. That the seven seconds we spend before we die are bizarrely deformed and lengthened until we can re-live it almost real time - a second life, a second time. Can we change the decisions we've made in that second round? Who knows? Has anybody ever died and lived to tell about it?

~

On March 3rd 1997 Marc Bellington died. It was a car accident, the boy had been drunk at a party so the parents of the host had sent him home on foot, his car - a potential protective layer from asphalt and oncoming cars - still safely parked in front of their house. It was a really neat car too; his dad had bought it for him on his sixteenth birthday, not two weeks ago. A few streets from his home he got hit by a speeding truck. Like a bug on a windshield. They had to literally wipe him off the streets - the driver got away without ever facing punishment. The hosts felt very guilty, very guilty indeed. The wife, a 24/7 busily rambling workaholic, was deeply hurt and plunged into a pit of guilt after the accident - kept saying that she should have called a taxi. The daughter, the one who invited Marc to the party, was, by definition, a shallow whore, who acted shocked for sympathy points with the deceased's admittedly sexy best friend, spent a whole of ten minutes contemplating his senseless death. The little girl the wife claimed was her husbands, the one that so suspiciously looked like the neighbor’s tween son, cried a whole day, as if her puppy died - Marc used to perform all sorts of magic tricks to cheer her up. Everyone at least showed some sort of compassion. Almost everyone. The husband though did not really pay heed to the boy’s tragic fate. Too busy was he hiding the evidence of his little truck-driver-act that may very well be worth a few acting prizes. It was his first kill. It was clumsy, it was not well-executed, it left tons of evidence that needed to be disposed of, and it was in no way satisfactory to the beast that inhabited the man known by the name of Sean. No, he needed a second kill. And a second kill he got.

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authors note:

obviously wip, i just decided to first find out what you think about this story.


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