It’s the sort of time when you’re not really sure whether or not you’re really awake, or still dreaming. When the two worlds overlap, and your dreams absorb the world around you and twist the context. On my bed sits a creature; I greet him by rubbing my eye and groaning.
“You will die today.”
It’s a hell of a good morning, I think, but I’m not exactly what you’d call surprised or frightened, even though before me is this many eyed gray skinned freak who could not possibly be from this world. He speaks again in many voices,
“This is a promise that you won’t die until you’ve finished all that you need to do today.”
I groan at the creature again, and he disappears with a woosh. My head hits the pillow and I fall back asleep.
I wake up startled. The goddamn neighbors are at it again, I don’t know what they do, I’m not nosy, but they certainly are noisy with whatever goes on up there. I promised myself I’d do something about it, but it’s something I’ve put off for a long time. Naturally, the first thing outside of the other first things, I heat up some coffee, and flip the pages of the newspaper. My horoscope says “You’re going to die today, make your peace with the world.” That’s an odd horoscope for a Scorpio. Is today the first of April?
I sip the espresso and flip to the funny pages, which have been replaced with an Uncle Sam like drawing of a Cthulhu like thing point its face tentacle at me, and just now I remember of the freak at my bed side. Well, f**k, I’m going to die today.
It all adds up. I really didn’t need much proof. My horoscope said so, the funny pages implied it, the aliens told me. f**k, I bet you it’s on the news. I have to finish my business with this world. It’s seven fifty five AM. I have until eleven fifty nine fifty nine before I die. About. A maximum of just short of sixteen hours. Talk about a race against time.
Naturally, the first thing I need to do is to brush teeth.
Check.
Now, I need to fix the AC. It’s march, and I’ve scarce needed to use it, but goddamn it does it need fixing.
I fixed it alright.
I threw it out the balcony. f**k them if someone was under it. They’re probably a Scorpio.
I’m still in pajamas, but it doesn’t really matter now, does it? Up those stairs, apartment 1204, right above me, we’re gonna talk. Knock knock. Shuffle shuffle. The door opens slightly and I can’t see anyone but I can hear them say.
“Who’s this, what do you want?”
“I want to know,” I’m so smooth, “Why every Saturday you have to wake me up by banging so goddamn loud on your floor.”
There’s silence for a while and a giggle.
“I’m wrestling a bear.”
Door shuts. Well f**k this guy too. My foot flies into the door a couple of times, my side smashes into it, and then my foot again, the damn thing falls off the hinges and onto the apartment floor. What do you know the guy wasn’t kidding. Except the bear isn’t the animal. They both give me a terrified stare, I’m sure at least half of the terror is due to them both being completely naked. Any other day I wouldn’t burst out laughing. One of them tries to reach the phone, but I happen to be closer to it. No more phone.
“Wrestle a bear on a lower floor.”
Did you know how much easier it is to throw someone out of a window when you gain callous disregard for human life? It’s loads easier when conscience doesn’t hold you back. Especially when you know you’re going to die. The bear himself is a heavy guy. He comes at me with a knife. Well that’s some s**t right there. He stabs me in the shoulder, and it hurts. It hurts a lot more than you would know without ever being stabbed in the shoulder. There I am, in pajamas standing next to a broken window, half a phone handle in my hand, knife sticking out of my shoulder, standing next to this huge naked guy who is trembling with anger and concern. He figures it’s alright to push me out the window too.
It feels like a roller coaster.
I fall for twelve stories, but actually manage to fall on something soft enough that it doesn’t kill me. Dear god. Someone threw out all these… pillows. And the other guy’s kind of laughing too, though he punches me in the face when I get back up. “You’re a very funny man” is his next comment. He doesn’t even give a damn that I have a knife sticking out of my shoulder and all. It’s a wonder how his boyfriend would use a knife when he could easily tear my head off like a leaf off a branch.
What else did I have to do today?
Oh yeah.
My girlfriend’s been cheating on me. It’s too bad the phone’s back up in the apartment, and I really don’t feel like going back up. I’ll just visit her at her house.
Well I kept the knife in. What did you want me to do? No, it builds character. I’m dying today anyway, might as well look silly when I go out.
I end up at her apartment, it’s ten o’clock, it’s a long walk.
She opens the door, bedhair and bags under eyes, moaning slightly like the morning zombie she is. “Hey baby.”
“Hey. How’s Fred?”
She kind of looks awake for a second, like I sprayed her in the face with cold water. Before she has a second to reply I punch her out cold. It’s a day of misogynism and whimsical debauchery for me, I’m dying today. I hope everyone laughs at my funeral. Then, I take all the stuff I left at her apartment, change out of my pajamas, smash her TV. I’m walking out the door and she’s waking up. I punch her again and slam the door.
Next.
Quit my job.
Hahaha, that’s a joke, I’m a writer; I don’t have a job.
Now then, what else to do?
I trip down the stairs and break my neck.
Yeah. I’d say I went out with a bang.