Dead (Fiction, Rough Draft, Incomplete)

How long had I been dead, I wondered?

The alarm had growled at me early, and I had rolled out of bed, yawned, and staggered into the bathroom, just like every morning. The house was quiet; quiet an empty. I yawned, looked at my face in the mirror, and whipped my eyes. Two long without shaving, eyes heavy with fatigue and framed with dark circles. My hair was a tangle of strands, a few rouge pieces jutting out towards the feeble overhead light. I looked like crap, but even then it didn’t occur to me that I was dead. I didn’t shave. I didn’t brush my teeth. Instead, I just spit in the sink, took a shit, and left.

I didn’t eat breakfast. I hadn’t eaten dinner the night before. I really couldn’t tell you when the last time I had eaten was. I just wasn’t hungry. There was a bottle of wine in the fridge, mostly empty already, and I finished it off in one long, drawn out swallow. The yellow light of the fridge glared at me, waiting for me to shut the door, which I did after returning the empty bottle to its haven.

Thursday. I had to check, but yes, it was Thursday. Work. I didn’t go.

Sometime during the afternoon I went to the fridge again, and stared at the empty bottle, lying crookedly on the shelf. It was empty.

Empty.

I realized then, staring at the bottle, that I was dead, but I was having some trouble putting my finger on the date of death.

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~ by brokenrazor on July 11, 2008.

One Response to “Dead (Fiction, Rough Draft, Incomplete)”

  1. this one will be interesting to read when you finish it… a little morbid, but I like it!

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