Story of My Death: Part One

I've always known I would die, I mean hell everybody dies right? Yeah everybody dies; some more peacefully than others. For the lucky ones it happens in their sleep; no agony or pain, just one minute they are in La La Land and the next the curtains are slowly drawn on whatever play they are in and the lights go out. Shit, doesn't that sound nice? Then there are the deaths that can be and often are more gruesome in nature; deaths like mine. Statistically more people probably die of cancer or lung disease annually than those who are brutally murdered in their homes, I would Google it if I could.

By all accounts I would say I was a regular guy; I had a job that I actually liked, a nice house in a decent neighborhood, two great kids; Jackson and Emily and I was married to an amazing woman who was also my best friend and the love of my life. Jackson is a great kid; he reminded me so much of myself when I was his age, very bright and energetic, he plays guitar, golf and baseball, loves music and is a solid B student. Emily, however, was my princess from the day she was born, even though her mom never wanted her to get into the princess thing, it happened.  Being the big old sucker that I was, I let daddy's girl run the show. Emily is very smart, almost creepy-smart like her mother. She has always been into athletics, she's a tennis master and loves the outdoors and has never made a B in her life.

I died two weeks ago at home in my garage while working on a lamp switch that had gone out. My family wasn't at home so I had some music playing a little louder than I normally would have, 90's alt rock and the garage door open to let air in. Originally, I was sent out there to go through and clean out my junk but I'm kind of like a ferret sometimes; shiny objects and all. It was raining out and the light breeze blowing in felt great in the stuffy garage. The lamp was broken, there was no way I could fix it and I knew it, but I'd rather dick around with it than tackle the task of going through fifteen years worth of God knows what I had crammed into boxes and storage bins.

The DJ was telling me that I should head on over to Little Earl's Rib Barn for the best plate of food in town as I kicked the toe of my shoe gently on the garage floor. I can't believe I actually put thought into trying to fix that lamp. R.E.M's "Shiny Happy People" started playing and as I reached up to change the station I noticed him out of the corner of my eye, but it was way too late for me to do anything. I felt the hard surface of some sort of metal object crash against my skull. It sent me to my knees and as I put a hand to the floor to steady myself and try to stand back up, I was stopped by an arm tightening around my throat. I did make it to my feet but only in time to feel a knife pierce one of my kidneys, then again, then my stomach, a lung and finally my heart. I was dead, killed by someone I didn't even know if I knew or for what reason or purpose.

My body was found by Jackson as he was taking the recycling to the bin in the garage. The garage door had been closed but the music was left on, slightly turned down by my killer to cover up what he had done long enough for him to get out of the area before he was spotted. My son didn't scream, there was an automatic lump in his throat, his face turned white, his eyes started to well up with tears and he grabbed his stomach as if he were going to puke but he couldn’t. His brain was processing what his eyes had already seen and his heart already knew. The crash of the glass recyclables on the concrete floor is what brought out my wife, who didn’t scream and drop to her knees in shock and disbelief like you see in the movies; she just stood there.