My Original Works

Life

Life takes up the planet. In different climates, you find different creatures. Simple as that.

Death consumes those with life eventually. The living topple over and fade into nothing but a memory. Simple as that.

Or, so I thought.

I thought that the moment when I was gasping for air in that burning building would be my last, yet here I am, supposed to be dead.

I thought that when I was stabbed directly into the heart that I would crumble to the ground and disappear.

I thought that when I slipped and crashed over the guardrail that I would explode into a million pieces.

I keep dying.

But, I can't die for good?

I've taken a bullet straight to the head.

I've had my neck snapped like a twig when trying to fight off a flock of burglars.

I've consumed pure poison and practically imploded from the pain.

Why can't I die?

I eventually began to toy with my ability, trying to find strange ways to eliminate myself. I jumped into a machine at the meatpacking industry which not only squashed me like I bug but sawed me in half, jumped directly into an erupting volcano and "sank" to the bottom like a rock before swimming around like I was in a very big hot tub, and even "forgot" to open my parachute when I went skydiving over the weekend.

That's life for you?

It would probably make more sense if I used my "ability" for the better, but what kind of generic superhero story is that? To become the hero or villain and try to be bested by the opposing side of justice? Who cares about that when I can trap myself in the water under a sheet of ice and get a close-up view of baby seals? Or hop into the aquarium of sharks and scare the life out of the guests?

Why would I become the hero when I can live life to the fullest?