I’ve always felt that I was out of place in life. Even as a child, I never fit in. Not with the other kids, and certainly not with my family. Everywhere I looked, I saw inconsistencies. The way book titles and logos changed, and people suddenly would forget conversations that we’d had, or things we had done.
You wouldn’t believe the looks that I got when I tried to point these things out to people. They would look at me like I had threatened their very life, with disgust and shock. Needless to say, no one ever believed me.
As I grew older, I learned to keep the inconsistencies to myself; though I never stopped noticing them. Year after year, they became more obvious. The way the sky would glitch, how stop signs would seemingly blip through my car as I flew into them; only to find no damage later on. I never understood it, but it was fucking weird.
Things began to change for me though, when I met Lucy. She was the first person that had ever told me that she had seen the inconsistencies too. We talked for hours about how, all our lives, we’d felt left out.
“We’re just more observant than the others, we’re special” She’d tell me, and I believed her.
One night, after the most mind blowing sex we’d ever had, her glassy eyes met mine and she said the strangest thing.
“You know, it takes seven minutes for your brain to die once your heart stops.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I sat there and stared at her, my mind reeling far too fast to formulate any thoughts.
She continued. “What do you think happens to your brain during those seven minutes?”
“I-I don’t know.” Is all I could manage to squeak out.
Three years later, a loud knocking woke me up. As I sat up in bed, still groggy and trying to figure out what planet I was on, I felt around the bed for Lucy. The knocking continued, almost frantic, but Lucy wasn’t next to me.
“She’s just in the bathroom I guess.” I muttered as I got out of bed, heading towards the door to get the incessant knocking to stop.
As I opened the door, my heart dropped. Standing out in the rain was a police officer, with his hat in his hands.
“Hello ma’am, are you Sylvia Locke?”
My world started spinning, the police officer’s words were muffled, I felt the blood drain out of my head and suddenly, the world went black.
When I came to, the police officer was sitting on the chair next to me. He carefully explained that Lucy had been in an accident, and she was pronounced dead on the scene. He asked if I could come identify the body, if there was anyone he could call for me, and if I was okay to drive.
After I had calmed down, I drove myself to the morgue and saw Lucy, my Lucy, laying on a cold metal table. She looked so pale, and you know how people always say corpses look peaceful? She didn’t. She looked terrified and alone, and the worst thing is that I wasn’t there when she died.
Tears filled my eyes as I turned to leave, unable to look at her any longer. Sure, maybe I was supposed to stay longer, but I couldn’t handle it any longer. Her corpse only reminded me that I failed her, and I had to get out. As I turned the knob to leave, I heard Lucy’s voice fill my mind.
“What do you think happens to your brain during those seven minutes?”
I don’t know, but we’re about to find out.
My vision is fading now as I slip in and out of consciousness. The warm water keeps my blood from clotting and I can feel the life slip from my body. My heartbeat is slow and thready. No longer will I search for inconsistencies, now, the seven minutes awaits.
As my eyes close for the final time, I see a bright light; no, millions of bright lights. A voice calls out to me, I don’t know where it’s coming from, but it is soft and melodic; almost like Lucy’s.
“Your seven minutes are up.”
“What?! No! They just started!” My soul struggles against the overwhelming pressure that is pulling me apart.
“No, you saw your life one last time, now you must move on.”
I tried as hard as any soul could to stay, but I was being forced from whatever plane I had found myself on. Before I knew it, I was being thrown towards one of the lights before being pulled out, kicking and screaming; pleading to return.
Image: Unsplash - Joshua Sortino
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This piece is a level three response to
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Thank you for this poignant and personal work. Very visceral and lived-in.
Whoa, I got chills. I love what you didn’t say here, the gap you let the reader fill in.