Dead Men Tell No Tales

There’s no grace in reflexes. When they kick in, you don’t bow out like a ballet dancer. You squirm, you flail your hands, and you scream.

And you scream some more when the will to live against all odds overpowers all your senses and there’s no one to help you. There’s also no grace in fighting for your life when you’re all alone.

Somehow, his own screams felt like they came echoing from a place far away. His voice traveled across cities, cutting through trees and rivers, the concrete jungle and all the honking and blaring of the traffic.

But that could also be because he could not hear or say a thing while he was underwater. His brain was roaring, fighting to keep itself alive but his body seemed to have revolted against all sense, singing its own tune.

They say that when you’re dying, you see your whole life flash before your eyes. Truth is, when you’re dying - especially when you’re drowning - you can really think of just one thing: Air.

Almost against his own better judgement, he gasped and let in a stream of salty water into his lungs. After a moment’s relief, he felt a searing pain shoot through his body, hinting at him that it was time to let go or go down ungracefully.

The second thing that usually comes to your mind when you’re dying is, “I hope I’m remembered when I’m gone and people knew me for who I was.”

He knew that there would remain Mr John Doe in all files. No one would know his name, they wouldn’t know whether or not he was an honest, upright citizen. Whether he was charitable, whether his friends adored him, whether or not he had a family or whether he loved with all his heart.

No one thinks of emotions when they see a rotting body on a cold mortuary slab. So he let go of who he was and let the water swallow his identity.

(Freewriting exercise. 1PM)