It’s Freaky Friday time! I am a huge fan of horror in all walks of life, be it literature, film, or those haunted mazes that they have during Halloween time (which, predictably, is my favorite holiday). The spooky, the macabre, the downright terrifying, I love it all, so once a week I will share something that warrants being lumped into the Freaky Friday category.
Up to bat this Friday is a short little piece I scribbled down earlier in the week. I’m still playing around with it, and am hoping to expand it into something longer with more substance, but here it is in its current draft after the break. Let me know what you think!
I Wish We Could’ve Been Better Friends
by: Alex Harvey-Gurr
I have died, but do not know it. I do not know it because everything is as it was before. There is nothing amiss, and everyone is who they should be and where they should be and with whom they should be with. I should not suspect that I have died. And so I don’t.
But then one night I wonder, while bored and watching forgettable television, if I have died but do not know it because everything is as it was before, the same in every way, no perceptible changes of any kind at all. I think, how would I know one way or the other, if I were dead or if I were alive? Would it even be possible find out, if everything stays exactly the same? And can you die if you’re already dead? A suicide, an accident, a natural death, what would happen? Would everything just continue on being the same? Would you still not know? Does that mean that we’ve always been dead, that that’s what life has been about this whole time? Our minds pretending, tricking us into believing that we aren’t dead? When we’re dead?
The questions, the questions, so many, no answers, never any answers, never will be because that is life—or is it death?—and I fear that I am dead but do not know it, so I sit on my leather couch—dead skin, dead, dead, dead skin—with the wide, scared eyes of a mortal woman who fears death above all else, and try to convince myself that I am alive, not dead, alive.
And I do.
And then I forget my little thought experiment, because I believe I am alive; I know it, rather. And I live my life like a living woman would. I drink my coffee, I love my lover, I dream of future happenings that will never come to pass, and of happenings that will. I sleep with no fear that the Lord has already my soul to take, taken it far away without my knowing, because I know that I am at the precipice of a long life, with decades left to fill it with.
And then a friend sends me a text one night while I am bored and watching forgettable television:
I wish we could’ve been better friends
before you died.