Chapter 01: Death

Okay, so get this. I totally died.

It wasn't really the kind of thing I expected to happen on a regular day, but there it was. One minute I was walking home from work, minding my own business, and the next thing I knew, I was meeting the Grim Reaper.

At first, it was a little jarring, but then I realized, 'hey, at least now I finally had an answer to that age-old question: what's on the other side?'

Turns out, it was a shit load of nothing. Just blackness. Kinda like when you close your eyes really tight, but you know, forever.

But you know what? I wasn't even mad about it. 'Cause then I could finally say that I'd done the one thing that every human being has to do at some point in their lives. Let me tell you, it was a real weight off my shoulders.

Plus, then I had a great excuse for not doing any more laundry. "Sorry, can't do it, I'm dead."

You know what's really funny? Before I died, I was having a pretty decent day. I mean, I'm a software developer, so my standards for a "decent day" are pretty low. Still, I was feeling pretty good about myself.

I even saved a cat from a tree. Yeah, you heard me right. I was basically a superhero then. I climbed that tree like a boss, scooped up that little feline, and brought it back down to safety.

You wanna know what's even funnier? The cat's name was Mittens. I mean, come on, that was just hilarious. Who the fuck names their cat Mittens?

Anyway, the owner of the cat was super grateful, and we had a nice little chat. She was a real animal lover, just like me. I mean, who doesn't love animals? They're like furry little bundles of joy, except when they're scratching up your furniture or peeing on your carpet. We still forgive them anyway, because they're just so damn cute.

Anywho, there I was, bopping along to the song blasting through my headphones, thinking about what kind of pizza toppings to get for dinner. Then, BAM! I got hit by a car. It was like something out of a cartoon, you know? I was just walking down the street, minding my own business, when this car came flying out of nowhere and smacked me right in the face.

It hit me like, well, a speeding two-ton car. At first, I thought I was just having a really bad trip, but then the pain hit me like a ton of bricks.

I tried to move, but my limbs were like, "Nah, mate, we good down here on the ground, thanks." It was like my body was protesting against my desire to not die on the pavement.

I could hear all these people shouting and screaming, but it all sounded like the adults in those old Charlie Brown cartoons, "Wah wah wah wah wah." Then there was this weird blinding light, like I was being abducted by aliens or something.

The pain was excruciating, like someone had set me on fire and was using me as a marshmallow to roast. The world around me was spinning, and not in a fun rollercoaster kind of way. More like a "Hey, let's make this guy vomit his guts out!" kind of way.

I knew I was in deep doo-doo when I felt the warm sticky sensation of blood pooling beneath me. It was like someone had opened up a ketchup packet and poured it all over me. Gross. Ew. Gay. What? How the fuck is it gay?!

As I lay there, waiting for the ambulance to arrive 'They are sure taking their fucking time! What are you?! Police?!' I couldn't help but think about all the things I still wanted to do with my life.

I hadn't even finished binge-watching "The Office" yet! And what about my collection of 'action' figures? Ahem! Who was going to take care of those?

Finally, the ambulance arrived, and the paramedics rushed over to me, asking me all kinds of questions. Honestly, it felt like they were speaking in another language. I was in so much pain I could barely even remember my own name.

The ride to the hospital was a blur. I remember the flashing lights, the sound of the siren, and the feeling of the wind rushing past me. Then, nothing.

The next thing I knew, I was in some kind of weird dreamlike state. It was like I was floating above my body, watching as the doctors tried to save my life. But it was no use. My time had come.

As I breathed my last, all I could think about was my beloved pets. Who was going to feed them now? Who was going to take them for walks? Who was going to clean out their litter box? Man, being dead really sucks.

I gotta say, it was a real bummer. I mean, I was just starting to enjoy being dead and all. I guess that's just how it goes. One minute I was saving cats from trees, and the next I was roadkill.

The moral of the story? Life is short, so you might as well enjoy it while you can. If you see a cat stuck in a tree, go ahead and save it. It might just be the highlight of your day. But watch out for cars, they're real killers.

And,

The end.

…

Well, apparently not.

Death.

It's the one thing we all have in common, aside from our love for cute animal videos on the internet. It's the grand finale of life, the last chapter in our story, the ultimate punchline. What happens after we take our final bow? Who knows? Maybe we'll meet a group of cool ghosts, maybe we'll reincarnate into a house cat, or maybe we'll just float around as a disembodied spirit, haunting people and watching them pee. Hehe, sounds kinda fun, not gonna lie.

That's not the point folks. The point is to make the most of our time here on Earth, and not just waste it binge-watching Netflix and eating Cheetos (Ahem, ignoring I did just that). Live with purpose, live with passion, live with reckless abandon. Just not too reckless or you might end up with an unplanned trip to the afterlife, or buying milk if you go down the other reckless path.

Sure, we don't have all the answers to life's big questions; that's what makes it all so damn exciting. Who needs boring old certainty when you can have thrilling, spine-tingling uncertainty? It's like playing a game of Russian roulette with a loaded Nerf gun.

Speaking of uncertainty, my own journey has been a real rollercoaster ride. I don't remember much of my past, thanks to my old pals Depression, Anxiety, and PTSD. But hey, who needs an old memory when you can make new memories every day? Just don't forget to write them down or you might end up like me, with a memory like a sieve.

Why am I rambling all this like a fucking lunatic? Simple.

I was dead.

Wow. shocking right?

The question was, why the fuck could I do… this?

This; this shit I'm doing. Thinking. Did I lose it finally?

Apparently, no.

***

I never thought I'd be the kind of person to believe in reincarnation, but here I am.

So, picture this: I'm just minding my own business, living my best life, or… uh, death. when I suddenly wake up in a hospital room with some dude in a white coat slapping my ass. I was like, "What the hell, dude? I didn't sign up for this kinky shit!" but what came out of my mouth was more along the lines of: "Ew ooo whaaa!"

What the fuck was happening?!

Said question was in my mind for a while, but then, as I observed more of my situation, it hit me: I've been reincarnated as a baby. Let me tell you, it's not as fun as it sounds.

First of all, I got slapped on my fucking ass (I didn't even let my ex touch it! How fucking humiliating!).

I let out a screech that could make Satan himself flinch as the cruel reality of my predicament sunk in. I mean, who wouldn't lose their shit in that situation? One minute, I'm crushing it at life, (uh, more like death) the next, I'm a squishy, defenseless little lump that can't even hold my own head up. The worst part? Nobody gave a shit about my tears! They just kept cooing and awwing like I was a cute little hamster instead of a raging human.

I wasn't some cheap pet, damn it! I was a freaking human being with dignity! Humans do not appreciate getting their tushies smacked, unless of course, they're into that kind of kinky stuff. Actually, let's not go there.

So where was I? Oh right, bawling like a banshee. I let out another howl to remind everyone how absolutely miserable I was. It was like a siren call for more babies to come and join my pathetic pity party. Let me tell you, a room full of crying babies is about as enjoyable as getting a root canal from a blind dentist. It's like being stuck in a room with a bunch of miniature drunk people who can't stop yelling.

I digress. The point is, being a baby sucks. You can't do anything for yourself, you can't even wipe your own ass. Being a baby sucks donkey balls. You can't even fart without assistance. Don't even get me started on the "food" they serve. It's like a punishment meal for death row inmates. The worst part? You can't even curse the living daylights out of those responsible, because all you can do is gurgle and drool.

So, there I was, bawling my eyes out, wondering what kind of heinous crimes I had committed in my past life to deserve this crap. Was I a serial killer? A tax evader? Maybe I had committed unspeakable crimes that had warranted this kind of punishment (Ones that I have forgotten due to memory loss!). Or maybe, just maybe, the universe has a sick sense of humor and thought it would be funny to reincarnate me as a poop machine.

Well, congratulations, Universe, you got me good.

***

[Give or take, a month later]

So, let's get real for a minute. Diapers are the worst. They're like tiny padded coffins for your ass.

I mean, I get that they serve a purpose, but come on. Couldn't they have made them a little more comfortable? Every time I tried to wiggle my way out of one, my mom would just give me this look like I was trying to commit some kind of crime. Like, sorry for trying to give my butt some breathing room, jeez.

Don't even get me started on the poop. It's like a never-ending avalanche of grossness.

You know how people say "when it rains, it pours"?

Well, when you're a baby, it's more like "when it poops, it explodes."

I swear, it's like my butt had a vendetta against me or something. The worst part? Nobody ever warned me about the dreaded "blowout". You know, when the poop manages to escape the diaper and makes its way onto your clothes? It's like a horror movie, except instead of blood and guts, it's just a bunch of poop.

You know what's even worse than the poop? The diaper changes. I swear, my mom must have thought she was part of some kind of pit crew, the way she could change a diaper in record time. The noises she would make! It was like she was at a monster truck rally or something. "Alright, folks, we've got a full diaper on aisle 4! Let's see if she can beat her personal best time!" Meanwhile, I'm just laying there, covered in poop, wondering how I got myself into this mess.

But hey, at least diapers have one redeeming quality; they make for great improvised weapons. Whenever my mom would get too close with that damn diaper cream, I would just grab a handful of poop and fling it at her like a tiny, smelly ninja.

It was fucking gross, I know. It was like a game of dodgeball, but with poop. Let me tell you, nothing puts your mom in her place like a well-placed poop fling.

So, to sum it up: diapers suck, poop is gross, but hey, at least I've got a killer arm when it comes to flinging poop. I'll have to remember that for my next life.

***

Oh boy, let me tell you about learning to walk. It's like trying to balance on a pair of stilts while wearing roller skates, blindfolded, and with a chimpanzee sitting on your shoulders. Every step is a victory, and every fall is a disaster. It's a wonder anyone ever learns to walk at all.

My mom was no help, either. She was like an overzealous personal trainer, pushing me to my limits and cheering me on like I was in the Olympics. "Come on, you can do it!" she'd yell, like I was some sort of athlete. Yeah, right. More like a tiny drunkard trying to make it to the bathroom without falling over.

The worst part? Every time I fell down—and trust me, it was a lot—my mom would freak out like I'd just broken all my bones. "Oh no, are you okay?" she'd say, like I was in mortal danger. Yeah, thanks for the concern, mom, but I'm pretty sure I'm made of rubber at this age. I love you.

The real kicker? Every time I fell down, my mom would laugh. Like, really laugh. It was like she was watching an episode of America's Funniest Home Videos, and I was the star of the show. I mean, come on mom, I'm glad I can bring some joy into your life, but can you at least try to hide your amusement when I faceplant into the carpet?

Let's not forget about the whole "trying to stand up" thing.

It's like trying to defy gravity with nothing but sheer willpower. Every time I managed to get to my feet, it was like a miracle had occurred. Then I'd promptly fall down again, like a tree getting chopped down in slow motion. It's a good thing babies don't have any pride, because otherwise I'd be in serious trouble.

Though, you know what? Despite all the falls, bruises, and embarrassment, learning to walk was kind of worth it. I mean, once I got the hang of it, I felt like a freaking superhero. Let's be real, nothing beats the feeling of being able to walk into the kitchen and steal all the cookies from the cookie jar.

So yeah, learning to walk may have been a bumpy ride, but at least it was an entertaining one.

* * *

AN: Well, this is just a test honestly, I dunno... I have never written stuff like this - humor and all, and tbh, it does feel strange... but depends if you guys like it.

It's Monday btw! I will appreciate it if you leave POWERSTONES!

Bwahahahahaa!