Passing Man

This is a preview of a short story I am working on.

 

Forty years had passed since I died. My flesh has rotted, my skin has long since decompossed. Where once there was living tissue, blood and bones, now simply minerals and calcium deposits. The remains of the life I once had distributed between the earth, the family and the opportunists. My death was a painful one which I remember as if it was only yesterday, not forty years prior. I can still to this day feel the chops and the slashes of the blade which severed my limbs. The tightness around my neck as I was afixiated, even the feel of the needle prick as it punctured my skin and the cold pressure building up around the needles entry point as the cocktail of drugs swelled into my bloodstream. Yes, it certainly wasn’t my best day.