In the few moments where the piercing pain in your chest and your consciousness scramble in a needy fight of tug of war: your life the rope which they relentlessly and mercilessly pull, I can assure you of one thing, it won’t be like anyone has told you it would be.
In the moment between the trailers headlights stopping you dead in your tracks and you slipping into permanent immortality, I can categorically tell you that it won’t be like you’re peacefully floating in space, no it won’t, you won’t have rainbows pouring out your mouth like you had cheerios for breakfast that morning, you won’t see sheep jumping over the horizon and using the moon as an unsteady hula hoop, juggling the stars with their tails, it won’t be quick and painless, no it most definitely won’t.
Nope, instead you’ll see nothing, absolutely nothing and this would make you want to retire to the bittersweet confines of craziness, but here’s the thing, you won’t be able to, because a lifeless form drifting through painful non-existence does not have the luxury of exuding animal capabilities.
You’ll feel like your head has been replaced by your toes and your toes by your teeth, and your vagina which is between your thumb and your index finger, and your vagina would clench because the weight of your butt cheeks against your fingers is too heavy, and you’d feel like you’re wearing a shirt made out of a goats cuticles sitting in a chair filled with thumb pins listening to a recording of your dad snoring over and over and over.
And you’ll wake up dead and you’ll be eternally curse yourself for not realizing that you were dead long before you died