No Sleep

Charlie Mulvey

 

I blew my brains out and they landed on the pavement. It’s strange to think that the single fraction of a second it takes for the bullet to leave the chamber of the gun, enter your skull and pop out on the other side really seems to last much longer. Not many people can tell you this though, most likely because they are dead. There are some who survive such things but they can’t remember. But I know.

            The feeling is not unakinto the feeling of being spinning drunk on the floor. When the alcohol has taken such a hold of your body that you are neither in control of your senses nor of your feelings of equilibrium. You know that you are drunk and on the floor. You know that the room you are in is a normal room that does not teeter or spin, yet it does. You can feel all the juices, membranes, and molecules in your body being pulled, simultaneously, in one direction. Pulled as if going to a single solitary point in space. A point that, if ever reached, would consume your existence.  

            There are no nerves in your brain. Only nerves in the bone, muscle, and skin on the head. But when a bullet travels from one end of your skull to the other I contend that the brain does feel it. You can feel even the parts that have been expelled out the exit wound. You feel them in the air sputtering about like pieces of paper at a ticker tape parade. They glide through the ether as if they’re on their own journey that you have been forced to join. You feel the first impacts of the first bits to hit the ground. It is an odd domino effect of feeling like heavy rain traveling up your body.

            Then there is that moment where you are dead but your arm and your body are still in their lifelike positions. Your head might tousle from side to side a bit, but your arm hasn’t had a chance to fall yet. This is yet another moment that cannot be recorded by a second hand, but it is there and you feel it. You feel that you are dead but you are still standing, or sitting or whatever. It is a strange feeling to know that you are dead. And to know that death can be known to the dead.

            To me death has always been a problem for the living that the dead need not concern themselves with. But in retrospect it is the deceased who should concern themselves with death and the animate with living. It is no use for the dead to be concerned about life, so it serves that the living should follow likewise. I understand that this may seem like false logic, a bit too clever to be true. But after all it is I who am dead and only the departed are imbibed with this knowledge. Had I known this previously I might be ignorant on other subjects.

 

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