OPENING CHAPTER
Getting hit by a truck was not on my list of things to do today. Nope. Definitely not on my list. I guess it’s true when they say all big things happen in three because if losing my job and cat all in the same day as dying isn’t by design then I don’t know what is. I was a deer caught in headlights. Quite literally except I was a person, a person unlucky enough to have been hit by a goddamn truck. A TRUCK! You imagine all the ways you may end up dying, but you never really expect that a truck 5 times your size with a sleepy looking driver would be the thing to send you six feet under. Or as far as I’m aware of, out of my body and into this stream of chaotic conciousness talking to... myself?
Just to recap, it was more like a terrible week with a climactic and deathly ending. It started when I had the audacity to step beyond my role as an intern at a reputable publishing house, the absolute gall to simply question what I felt was unjust reprimand. I guess I maybe should have predicted that the boss would not appreciate an intern interupting her rage rant and calling her out in a room full of her staff. But in my defense I would have held it in better if her spit didn’t land on my lip breaking my spirit. And thus me sane reaction choices simplified to either shouting back or throwing up on her, she ought to be grateful my spew was only verbal. Really, it all did not need to be so dramatic but I think The Venessa Cartway was simply incapable of offering criticism without screaming at , spitting on and publicly shaming whoever she deemed unfit. After the encounter I found myself with my work load consisting of many more coffee based duties that kept me from doing anything interesting or project related. It seemed messing up a dry cleaning, coffee and dog collecting task was Cartway’s final straw and she also felt it gave her free reign to verbally bash me before giving me the sack. When I packed up my desk and avoided everyones stares, especially considering the embarrassing way my boss screamed at me in front of them all, I had no clue how permanent this farewell would become. My plans for the day clearly demonstrate my unpreparedness for death, quite sad really since I love preparedness. No my plans were really very simple, maybe head home, and order some food to eat away my anxiety whilst re-reading my favourite book. Instead after eating I found myself chasing after my cat when she decided running out the window was more fun then comforting me. They say cats are mean to their owners but I in no way expected mine to trip me up into the road.
You would think upon dying you would find yourself pondering life’s meaning and greatest philosophical questions; that you would reach an answer upon death. Yet here I stand… -correction- exist, still oblivious and quite frankly hung up on the fact that I purposefully didn’t buy that waffle for breakfast because I was treating myself for desert in the evening. What a goddamn waste! I could try and make better sense of my circumstances instead of regret that packet of Doritos I never finished three years ago, but if I’m being quite honest, I have no clue what is going on or what else to do, that won’t send me spiralling. I don’t expect myself to suddenly find the answer either so I may as well embrace my ignorance.
Except that I’m now starting to feel quite odd. Sleepy almost. But no. That would be weird. How does a disembodied conscious entity even feel sleepy? I scoff mentally. Except that’s what I feel, I feel quite... sleepy for lack of a better word. Actually, I’m starting to feel quite a lot suddenly.
I think im starting to vibrate which is frankly not the weirdest thing about this all, the feeling seems to escalate into a rough shaking that kind of feel like hands on my shoulder thrusting me back and forth. No, that can’t be right, hands? Shoulders?
I feel my mouth open and release what feels like a very satisfying yawn, the kind that brings tears to your eyes and gets caught by those around you creating a collective wave of sound announcing a consensus that a bitch be tired. The black surrounding me starts to shift, brightening through shades of black and grey before eventually becoming so bright I feel blinded by the sudden light exposure. I squeeze my eyes tight, and I reach a hand out to cover my poor eyes in hopes of blocking out the bright light burning me. Wait… I open my eyes and finally register the fact I am no longer feeling so weightless. I attempt to sit up from the bed I seem to be laying in but only manage to lean higher up on the pillows behind my head. I finally take in the rest of the surroundings taking note of what looks like a luxurious room. Well, this does not look like a hospital room.
“Fuck”
If it is, this bill will be the real death of me.
I stumble as I attempt to get up and out of the bed, but I don’t stop trying to get to the door on the other end of the room. Considering the fact I got hit by a truck I feel surprisingly great, just a little weighed down. My movement is still slow and I find my breathing getting heavy. As if this body is all wrong and im getting my wires crossed. I walk past the gold trimmed mirror on the vanity and find myself coming to a complete stop.
‘well this doesn’t look right’
I turn around in shock, finding nothing, and swiftly snap my head back to the mirror.
“What the fuck. Why do I look like this?!”
See; getting hit by a truck, one would expect some shock to seeing yourself, probably upset to find a bloody, bruised and slightly deformed appearance that you hope is hidden behind bandages and medicine. I have never wished for something so hard, because the current reality terrifies me.
What I am looking at is a whole new face. New hair and new eyes and an entirely new person. I lean closer to the mirror, gripping its frame tightly, hoping if I grip it hard enough, I may be able to shake the image it’s showing into something else. Something more me. Infuriatingly, I am still faced with the same platinum white curls and murky grey eyes staring back at me. My tanned skin takes on an ashy quality as the blood drains from my face. I almost don’t look human, let alone like myself.
These delicate features don’t match the face I have known my whole life; it lacks my square jaw, slightly tilted nose, dark prominent eyebrows and dimpled chin decorated with a small scar, from when I was slammed into the ground by my brother who took play fighting a bit too seriously. Instead, there sits a straight button nose, smooth and pointed chin, and light grey feathered brows and lashes adorn this dark caramel heart shaped face. My plump, two toned lips covering straight white teeth are dropped open from my shock. My new face shifts into a grimace as my grip on the mirror tightens into a painful hold. I find myself feeling a higher level of disorientation I didn’t realise was possible, especially considering I thought I had already peaked. I attempt to find my bearings and assess the situation again; I look around the room frantically hoping to find some new found clues to explain my situation
