The Absurdity of Living to See Yourself Die, Part 1: Death and Chinese Food

I thought I’d try something new today.

So I tell this story about the time I died. However many times I’ve told it, I’m always fascinated by the way the details change, characters become more essential to the story; sometimes less. Sometimes the “accident” will become all my fault, and more often than not, it becomes someone else’s.

When the doors opened the oxygen was sucked out of the air. In the moment I was reminded of the big vacuum in the sky, and as the black smoke filled the elevator it resembled it as well.That is except for the screaming and the stars. When the elevator doors opened the smoke looked like someone had bricked up the entrance to the third floor, and painted it black. The smoke moved like a wave. Like a fucking Tsunami, I shit you not, and suddenly I was holding my breath. No, actually the air was sucked out of my lungs. I was trying not to breath, as the smoke waited at my lips.

Sitting on the couch watching t.v. She was taking way to long to get ready, as usual, but I guess that’s just part of the deal. I wanted to get to my place as fast as possible

so that we could order from the chinese food joint up the block before they closed. I was getting impatient, and her apartment was getting stuffier by the minute.

“baby let’s GO.” yeah, I’m one of those guys who calls their girlfriend baby.

“HOLD THE FUCK ON.” Her and I have a sharp tongue in common.

I knew I was about to die. I pulled her into my chest, and for just a second, I wasn’t scared. And then the second passed, and everyone rushed out of the elevator and she wasn’t in my arms anymore, and I was alone. I stepped in the direction of the elevator doors. The smoke was thick and hot on my arms. I know you’re supposed to get low in a fire, but I was disoriented, and wanted to find her. The fire was to my right, I could feel it. I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. I needed to fucking breath. It was hot, and I needed to breath, and I couldn’t find her, and I didn’t know which way I was going. I gasped for air, and the smoke filled me to the core. The smoke was heavy in my lungs. I could feel the weight of it, inside of my chest. There was nothing to breath. there wasn’t any oxygen. Any illusion I might’ve had that, just maybe, everything would be okay was shattered. I began having a coughing fit. My body needed oxygen and would use every last ounce of strength to drink in the smoke, and then force it out. Drink it in, force it out, drink it in, force it out. I have never coughed that hard before. My body shook violently, and I fell to the floor. I stopped breathing, and closed my eyes. It wasn’t terribly painful. It happened so fast that I wasn’t fully able to process how utterly terrifying it was either. I couldn’t help but think of how ridiculous the whole thing was. Death was a downright absurdity, almost funny.

“Holy shit. We have to get out of here. There’s a fucking fire in the building.” Christ. What was I thinking.

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One response to “The Absurdity of Living to See Yourself Die, Part 1: Death and Chinese Food

  1. Pingback: The Absurdity of Living To See Yourself Die, Part 2: Two Breaths and A Balloon « NYC, If You Are

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