Blank

Ah, the brisk feel of water against skin. How it cleanses everything. How it refreshes. The smooth run of drips and drops falling off of a fresh momentarily submerged in liquid, face. The beauty of each molecule drying off hair.

Certainly, this was not what Isaac was thinking. For he was being tortured by the Chinese, and they were forcing his head into a horse trough.

"Are you ready to talk, Blank?" one shouted. They called him Blank, because, well, no one knew his real name. Isaac didn't even know his name. He had many theories. Kraig, Matthew, Jamison. Never once had he considered "Isaac". His wife, Clementine (the late, so it goes), had once suggested "Isaac", but as she shouted it out to him, a cow gave out a yell. Isaac never even heard it.

Splosh. Shlip. A sound of heavy breathing.

"I don't know what you want from me! This water is wet!"

"But we know what we want from you, Blank!"

"Well, then, I suggest you tell me!"

"It was 1823! You were exploring the deep Amazon."

"Yes?"

"In search of the Grey Rock. The most valuable jewel on Earth. Hidden deep within."

"I never found it!"

"Then why, Blank, were all of you accomplices in finding said Grey Rock found dead from knife wounds? Across their necks?"

"We were attacked by a tribe of savages!"

"You're the only savage here, Blank. You are the only savage."

Splosh. Shlip.

"AAH!" shouted Isaac. It was 2003, and Isaac was a grade schooler.

"Give us the money!" shouted one of the bullies.

"I told you, I spent it on lunch!"

"Heh. Lunch, boys." The goons laughed and laughed.

The main bully lifted Isaac to eye level.

"Well, let's have something to wash that down with, eh?"

Splosh. Shlip.

"Tell me, Blank. Why did you kill them?"

"I didn't kill them! We were attacked?"

"And may I ask how you survived?"

Splosh. Shlip.

Isaac was taking a bath. It was 1985. He was 67 years old. This was not his home. He had no recollection of anything around him.

The knob twisted, Clementine walked in.

"Are you okay?"

I Would Hurt a Fly - Built to Spill

Oh Hi,

Seems as if it's the 3rd year of this blog. I can't say that I have much to show for it. Except, yknow, growing up. I'm not as annoying as I used to be (although I'm sure I'm still marginally annoying at some level. Sorry.

Anyway, I wrote this story that I won't stop posting everywhere. So, here.

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It so happened that it was on this day I died. I don't really know why. It was really like any other day. Wake up, get dressed, go to work, come home, whine about my day to no one in particular, and go to sleep, start over again. Except today, it went a bit different. Wake up, get dressed, go to work, while coming home get hit by a bus when I'm trying to cross the road.

If I had been a small child, someone would have pushed me out of the way. If I had been an old lady, the bus would have stopped. Had I been anyone else, the world would have not just sat back a watched my demise.

I don't know.

I admit, it was pretty painless. I wasn't aware of it, either. No anticipation of being hit oh man is this gonna hurt type stuff. Just, walk, bam, dead.

A lady with shopping bags dropped her cigarette out of her mouth. A boy kicking a soccer ball stopped for a moment, but that was only because my wife screamed.

Did I mention my wife? Well, I have one. She's ok. I come home every day, and she's not there. I make my dinner, watch some TV, crawl into bed, and there she is at about 1 am, smelling of alcohol and latex.

"Where have you been?" I would ask.

"Out." she would say. The cycle never ended.

To tell the truth, I don't know why she screamed. Not from attachment to me, that's for sure. Maybe it was just the pure shock. I guess I would scream too.

But I'm not really sure. I never really was.

So, I died. Not much happens after that. You wake up in a line. A line to a receptionist who tells you whether you go to Heaven or Hell. I wonder why she's there. Maybe it's her Hell. Or Heaven, but I doubt it because she does not smile at me when I smile at her. She keep the same half-dead frown on her face.

"Name please?"

"Heath Ledger."

"Ha ha, I'm rolling in laughter."

"Uh, sorry. Edward Reuben." (I never went by this. My parents had named me Edward Yalons Reuben. It spelled EYR, which was like Eeyore, so I went by that.)

"Hmm," she drones. Then she gives me a smirk and a badly hidden giggle.

"What? What is it?"

"A bus?" Great. Now she's making fun of my death. This is probably my Hell.

"Yeah, a bus. It didn't hurt much."

"Well, we have it listed that you are eligible for reincarnation."

"You have to be eligible for that?"

"Mmhmm..."

"Well, I'd rather not. I didn't really like life."

"Are you sure? You get to choose what you want to be. Except unicorn. Too many people were requesting it, and I lost the form you had to fill out."

"Well, I've always wanted to be a bear."

"A... bear?"

"Yeah, you know." I give her a growl. She is unamused.

"A bear?"

"Sure."

"Alright, fill this form out." She hands me a form on how to be a bear. I guess this is where instinct comes from.

How exciting! A bear! I can't wait! To eat berries and honey and scratch my back on a tree. I wonder if I get to choose my gender, but I decide not to ask the receptionist because she is busy with a man who has eaten his own skin off.

I suppose this will turn around my life- being a bear. Maybe it will not be as bad as being a human. I can only hope.

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It so happened that it was on this day I died. I don't really know why. It was really like any other day. Wake up, find food, give some to my cubs, go to sleep. Except today, it went a bit different. Wake up, find food, give some to my cubs, and get shot by a hunter who so happened to have eaten his skin in the last life.

Teenage Riot - Sonic Youth