by John Corwin
Aside from the wounds sustained from falling or crashing, the bodies didn't show signs of trauma that would indicate why they'd died. They didn't look bloated or diseased. The streets slowly filled with mourning ghosts as people returned home or to that last familiar place they were visiting before the end came.
Animals seemed to have survived the apocalypse. We saw dogs licking the faces of their dead owners and cats rubbing against the unresponsive legs of corpses. A potbellied pig squealed and curled up next to the body of a young woman with spiky green hair. Squirrels played in the trees and bird songs filled the air. We could walk right up to wild animals. Some would sniff the air and look at us but they didn't run. I picked up a cute little chipmunk but it popped back to its earlier position just like everything else in the real world did when I took it, which kind of sucked. I'd always wanted a pet chipmunk. I raised my fist and shook it at the universe.
We stopped at the Flying Biscuit where my cousin Jane worked. A sick greasy odor drifted from the back. I imagined a dead cook frying atop the gas stove and choked back puke.
"Can ghosts barf, you think?" I asked Kyle.
"I have no idea. I think ghosts can probably do whatever they want."
"Jane wasn't working today. I don't see her body."
"Want to go into town?"
Jane's dad had a condo in Midtown. She'd used it for parties since he was always away on business. Jane liked things too crazy for my tastes. She'd already done pot, cocaine, and just about anything else that would alter her state of mind. She'd lost her virginity at the ripe age of twelve to Richie Sanders who was fifteen at the time. They'd done it in my parents' bathtub when we were out of town on vacation. I'd always wanted to be a free spirit like she was. I'd wanted to give up the haughty pursuit of valedictorian and go crazy for once instead of fretting all the time about graduating early and getting into law school. But I was too much of a control freak, OCD about everything when it came to planning my life. My short little life. Maybe Jane had it right.
It should have been a long walk to the condo, but the world blurred around us and suddenly Kyle and I stood outside the high rise building just in time to see someone jump off the roof. I screamed the second I saw the body, arms wind-milling as it plummeted thirty stories.
A man in a charcoal business suit face-planted into the ground about twenty yards away. The pavement cracked around his body. Blood and brains splattered, pooled, and raced along the cracks. I was still screaming and running in place. Kyle hollered a string of curses. The cracks healed. The blood vanished. The man pushed himself up and stared at the unblemished asphalt, felt his undamaged face.
"Are you okay?" I asked between gasps.
"No." He brushed himself off, although the dust had already vanished from his cheap slacks. "This can't be real. This can't be death."
"It's something," Kyle said. "Maybe something in between."
"This is worse than death. Now I have to spend eternity with my nagging wife and mother-in-law. What did I do to deserve this?"
"I don't think there are rules anymore. Do what you want."
"I might just jump off this building again."
Kyle shrugged. "Might as well."
The man looked up. His body blurred upward to the roof.
"Wow." I wanted to do that. So I did. The surface of the high rise shot past and I joined the man on the roof.
Kyle arrived a second later. "This is too much," he said.
"Understatement of the year." At that moment I stepped on the road to acceptance. This was happening. I was dead. All my hard work and dedication toward a better future had been a total waste. And, wouldn't you just know it? The finale to my favorite TV show was tonight. Couldn't the apocalypse have waited one more day? I ground my teeth. Yep, this was Hell all right.
After reigning in my anger and disappointment, I realized that I hadn't seen my parents or brother since dying. Those first few hours of death had blurred together and I hadn't even thought about looking for them. Most of my neighbors had been there on that grassy plain, but not my parents and they'd died only a few feet away from me. It was possible I'd overlooked them in that initial flurry of confusion. Another prospect frightened me.
They might not be in the afterlife.
# # # #
MEET THE AUTHOR
John Corwin has been making stuff up all his life. As a child he would tell his sisters he was an alien clone of himself and would eat tree bark to prove it. For John, making stuff up was about one thing: teasing his sisters.
In middle school, everything changed. A class assignment to string random words together into a coherent story led to the birth of Fargo McGronsky, a young boy with anger management issues whose dog, Noodles, had been hit by a car. The short story was met with loud acclaim from classmates and a great gnashing of teeth by his English teacher. At this point, our esteemed author realized that making stuff up had broader uses.
Years later, after college and successful stints as a plastic food wrap repairman and a toe model for several well-known men's magazines, John once again decided to put his overactive imagination to paper for the world to share and became an author.
Connect with John Corwin online:
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/johnhcorwinauthor
Blog http://johncorwin.blogspot.com/
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/John_Corwin
Other Books by John Corwin:
Seventh
No Darker Fate
Outsourced
The Next Thing I Knew
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50