Kitsunegari (kitsunegari) wrote in obsessivefanfic,
Kitsunegari
kitsunegari
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Perpetual Perplexity or What the Hell Happened to Me?: The Musings of a Dead Man.

Perpetual Perplexity or What the Hell Happened to Me?: The Musings of a Dead Man.

I've contemplated many things, but death was never one of them. I don't remember exactly when it happened or even what I was doing before hand, but what I do recall disturbs me. How can the dead be disturbed by anything? I often wondered that myself and never thought in my life --ha! life. I can even make bad jokes in death, things can't be all bad-- i'd ever find out. But I'm disturbed by what I recall about my death. It's not the fact that i'm dead that i find the most disturbing, though it did come as quite a shock. It's not everyday you wake up to discover that you've died. No. What I find the most disturbing is how I died. Or rather how I believe I died.
I've never heard of someone being found dead in this manner. I can't even fathom it. It's too incredible. I've sat here for days trying to figure it out. From the first moment I relised I was dead I've tried to work out how I did it and why. Maybe I was drunk. That could explain why I don't remember what happened before. By piecing it together I know I wasn't alone when it happened. I know this because when I firswt realised I was dead there were a couple of other guys near by with expressions on their faces that were a mixture of awe, shock and absolute terror. Things got a little shady after that until the police and ambulance showed and took away my body. I don't recall what was being said because I was still suffering from the disorientation of one minute being alive and the next minute being dead. There was a lot of investigating going on, police tape, forensic photographers, everything. It was almost like a scene from a movie. I even got a couple of groovy chalk outlines! I found that part exciting. I don't know why, i just did. Some childhood fantasy perhaps. All in all there was an awful lot of excitement. That was a few days ago now. There has been the occasional detective come by to check on the scene and the chalk outlines and police taoe are still here, but for the most part, it's just me and my musings.
I've tried to leave the area a few times, because frankly, the scenery is quite dull. Come on, someone died here! There's still blood on the ground! That, and I'm sick and tired of staring at the same boring decor all the time! For some reason though, everytime I try to walk through the archway to the kitchen, I hit something like a brick wall. I know there isn't one there, but I keep walking into it none the less. That's got me a little perplexed. I don't know much about the afterlife, what with this being my first experience with it and all. So this whole being unable to leave that area in which I died thing is somewhat of a mystery. It would be nice though, I'm dying --oh dear, another terrible pun-- for a drink. Being dead is rather thirsty work.
It's actuallyquite boring being dead. Well, when I'm not trying to figure out what I was before my sudden and somewhat untimely passing that is. I've heard people talk of the whole possiblity of life after death, well, if this is it, I'm extremely disappointed. Things were much more exciting when I was alive. This is torture. Maybe this is hell! My own personal hell: to be bored out of my skull for eternity never knowing the truth of my death. Always to speculate what might have caused such a perplexing and disturbing demise. It sort of makes sense though. That whole whole fire and brimstone twaddle did seem a little far fetched to me. More like something from a childrens book than an eventuality. Unless it's your worst fear. I don't know if I've ever been afraid of eternal bordom though. Seems to me, my prsonal hell is something that I find truly annoying. Hmm. Boredom bugs me. I hate boredom. I have to have something to do, something to stimulate my senses. Then again, I've neer really believed in hell. So, if this isn't hell, then what is it? Maybe it's the waiting room to the next life. If that's so, then why amd I the only one here?
It's all really starting to bug me. Imagine that, a posthumousness with emotions and feelings. How is it possible to still think and feel even thought I'm technically a nothing? I don't understand what's going on. Maybe it's the disorientation of being alive so recently.
You know what really confuses me? It's the arm and the foot. From what I can remember, I was still pretty much whole, where limbs and feet are concerned. So who's were they and what connection do they have to this? Add to that the blodstained chainsaw lying near the remains of my decapitated body, and you've got a confusing very picture. It's like a dream that jumps all over the place and misses out on all the important parts that fill in whats going on. That's what disturbs me the most about this whole thing. I've got all these pieces of a puzzle that when put together creates frightening picture. What I can't fathom is why anyone, let alone myself, would consider severing parts of themself with a chainsaw.


Kitsunegari
11 February 2003

(This story was inspired by the Darwin Award detailing a group of guys who, in an effort to prove how macho they were, decided to sever bits of themselves with a chainsaw. One guy severed a foot, another an arm, and one who cut off his own head. This story is about the guy who cut off his head).
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