Exerpt from “The Death Manual” (a sequence of short shorts)

Section A47 – Ex post facto pt.163

 

What do you think it was like? It was like a weird dream where you wake up and you can almost touch the skin of reality. Your sheets are drenched with ozone. I don’t remember either. I think it was an avant garde film inside a surrealist etching. But it had  the genuine pathos of a Hollywood feature. You know, real human interchange like they have in a Victorian novel. Well, I’ve never seen fancy plates like that. I remember it was so bright that my eyes almost burned out and then so dark that I thought they had. Devoid. Except for the colors – there were so many goddamned colors that they bleeding through all the darkness. Kind of like those hippies and their acid. Or so I’ve heard. Personally, I thought it was more akin to the best peach pie you ever had, with mushroom cloud whip cream and every piece was ala mode, of course. You’re out of your fucking mind! There isn’t anything there. There never was. There was no before and is there no after, just this insidious, buzzing void. No, I have to refute that. It was hot, I could feel the smoke, with the distinctive tang of BO and decaying flesh, with musky hints of clotted cream and atrophied plant matter. At least that’s what I remember, but it’s all so very fuzzy. Wait a second. How many of us are in here? Hello? Hello (echoing into infinity)?

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