When I died, I was chasing a man named Levi Hastel. He was well known as someone who bought and sold men, mainly women, illegally. The prospect of any human being, being sold makes me sick to my stomach. Anyway, I was chasing him, when all of a sudden, the a$$ pulls out a .22 and shoots me, straight through my chest. The nerve of some people. Well, as the blood was gushing out, and my body was quickly shutting down, I had enough time to strangle the poor bastard. I wasn’t going to die without finishing the job first. So we lay there, Levi and I, and watched the stars come out as the sun set. I watched another man die, not for the first time either. The light left his eyes, and he sort of stiffened up. I’m sure that there’s some sort of medical term for that, but it looked like he was straightening his spine before walking into Confession. And so he died, with me, on a roof in Harlem. And not without leaving his own mark on me.
Funny how towards the end, you notice unimportant things, like the exact color of someone’s shoes, or a funny looking cloud in the sky. This time, I noticed a building across the way, where someone had written, “The end is coming” If I had the strength to, I would have laughed at the coincidence. I had a sense of humor like that. The last thing I saw, when the edges of my eyes blurred black, was that stupid saying, probably written by some crack head who had a bad trip. And so I died. No friends or family crowding around me, no crazy ex-girlfriends sobbing over my dead body. Just me. Well, me and Levi. By my counts, that was the 19th time I had died.
Hey! So this is just the prologue here. I want you guys to tell me if this is worth writing more about. It's different than my usual stuff, but this is me letting out my inner sci-fi, supernatural, fantasy self. So please let me know through votes and comments!
P.S. I'm not too sure about the title so if you can think of something better please write it!
