I remember that I wrote this when I was in a dark place, and I haven’t looked at it since because I tend to feel dismissive of anything I write that for whatever reason I feel is too emo, and this definitely felt that way at the time. But then I read it over this morning, and hey, I like it. So here you go.
Original post is from April 3rd 2013.
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Not sure what to call this – “flash fiction” or “vignette.” Whatever, it’s super short and fictional.
I’ve grown a bit reckless with my life recently.
Not in ways that would catch anyone’s attention or get me carted off. Just the steady increase in crossing the street against the red light, dashing across where there’s no crosswalk, not taking any particular care to avoid foods I’m mildly allergic to. Etcetera.
I know, stop the presses; we’ve got a wild one on our hands.
It’s not the acts themselves that I suspect would get me put in a straightjacket — it’s my reason for them. That reason being that I feel like I’m going to die.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 17 years on this planet, it’s that people get very weird very fast when you bring up death, apropos of nothing.
I still don’t know why. Death doesn’t scare me. It’s just there. Always has been. Everyone dies, and I’ve always felt like I’m going to die young. I’ve never been afraid of it. I’ve never even been curious, never asked how I know it or why I know it or when or where or how it’s going to happen or how young is young, exactly?
I figure this is the closest I’ll get to understanding how people feel when they believe in God or Jesus. How you can know there’s no proof you can point to, nothing tangible to back up your thinking, but nonetheless you just know it and feel it in your bones, in your blood, unshakable as any fact.
Fact: I’m not long for this world.
Sometimes I forget. It doesn’t define your life, you know, knowing you’re going to die. It’s just a fact of my existence. Sometimes you forget you have ten fingers, or at least don’t think about it until some little kid asks you or you need to count out some change on your fingers. That’s how it is with me and my imminent death. It’s not nearly as dramatic as it sounds.
And then there are times like now, when I feel it so strongly that I’m surprised I ever forgot. But as you could see from what I said up there, I don’t exactly live dangerously. I’m hardly ever suicidal. Can’t say never, but most of the time it’s like, “Why bother killing yourself when you’re already marked for death?” Might as well just let it come.
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