A friend with Mockery

Lights and distorted bright shapes danced onto the darkness, my eyelids slept as my pupils struggled to crawl into the light like they often did, it was a long struggle .

"I remain a corpse, why am I capable of thought?" I asked as I drifted on and on into the vast sea at the edge of the abyss.

At least I was trying to.

A foreign force pulled me back into panic, a surge of pain and pure panic, an electric shock traveled up and down my once cold body,

My hands clawed at the dirt, my lungs begging for a sip of air.

Id never felt less jealous of worms.

I gasped for air, my nostrils purging small rocks. the morning sun greeted my pupils.

“F-.. finally..”

I pushed my torso from the hole and onto the solid ground.

And there I laid, the sky was beautifully blue, the wind well behaved.

I closed my eyes and listened to the jazz of my stomach growling, 

That's when the pain started. my face was bleeding and mud was not the kindest substance a wound could befriend.

I must seek aid, but where even am I? my legs shook, and my head spun when I tried to stand, I stood anyway.

A quick scan proved my doubts, miles and miles of crooked rocks, triangles, crosses, and forgotten names. I was indeed in a cemetery.

starting point: sometime somewhere 
the cemetery

The air was still pale with early morning, but my skull felt like it was splitting in two.

My head throbbed so hard that shadows bent and warped into shapes that weren’t there. I stumbled forward like a drunk, arms stretched to catch myself, but the pain drove me down again.

Blackness swallowed me before I could even curse.

Rain woke me.

Cold needles on my face, soaking through my clothes until they clung to me like a second skin.

My stomach cramped with hunger, sharp enough to make me fold. I dragged myself through the mud, every step shaking.

Minutes passed that felt like hours, but I reached the exit.

No signs, no directions, just a slippery stone pathway.

I felt a surge of memories, this rain, this pain, this lack of self.

It reminded me of my last day on earth,

was I alive?

I’d taken the poison. I remember that much. Maybe it didn’t work. Maybe this is just my brain’s idea of hell, some comatose dream, stitched together out of my misery.

But if that were true, why did the cold sting so sharply? Why did my fingers burn and go numb at the same time?

I collapsed under a dead tree, my body curling in on itself. I pressed my hands together. Not to pray. Just to cry. My voice cracked anyway.

"if anyone's monitoring my comatose body, if by some divine miracle you can hear my screams, please.. just pull the plug"

My mind surging with waves of pain, confusion and endless questions.

That's when a foul smell hit.

The smell of toxic iron fumes violated my senses, as if a blacksmith was cooling molten steel in a pool of blood.

Something below me was radiating heat, I opened my eyes, slowly flexing my neck. And looked down at it,

It was a shotgun.

A strange contraption, 3 barrels, a dark wooden handle, the trigger begging to be pulled. Not the kind you see on hunting racks.

It sat there on the soil, waiting for me, daring me.
My chest tightened, I grinned ear to ear, not knowing whether I should laugh or cry, Was this the universe telling me, ”do it yourself?” 

”what a mockery.”

I picked it up. My hands shook under its weight. I pressed the barrels against my face until the cold metal kissed my eyelids. My throat scraped out a crooked moan.

One last effort. One last prayer. I pulled the trigger.

A crack like thunder.

Pain seared across my eyes. I clawed at my face, convinced half my skull was gone.

Then I felt it. Smooth skin. Sticky juice. It was no bullet.

An apple.

A perfect red apple rolled into my palm.

Too perfect.

I didn’t think. I didn’t care. I bit down, teeth carving through flesh, juice spilling over my chin. I devoured it like an animal, like a starving beast, shoving the pulp into my mouth until there was nothing left. putting competitive eaters and horses alike to shame.

When I was finished, I sat in the rain, breathing hard, grave markers behind me.

The universe had played its joke. Death had spat me out.

But I was still hungry.

I swiftly greeted my friend the gun, but maybe I shouldn't shoot myself this time,

“hmm.. what should I shoot next?” I though as I scanned the surrounding scenery with my friend,

A humanoid figure caught my attention “perfect.”

“Wait why is it getting smaller?” .. “oh its running”

Wait what.

”No!.. please come back! I'm not dangerous!”

Said the young man covered in dirt, mud, and crusty blood, still aiming his best friend at the unsuspecting visitor, before adding :

”I might as well just shoot”. 

This is just a dream after all, probably.