Story Go Round 11/29/2009, #1

Random Deaths

Let me tell you this story. It would be funny if it weren't so tragic. It's about this guy named Darrien. He's by all means ordinary, other than the minor, itty-bitty fact that he can't die. Or rather, he can. In fact, right now, he's twenty-five and he's died sixty-two times. Also, it turns out he resurrects in some random place he's been before in his life. Actually, he's me. I've done that. I've died repeatedly. And it sucks. A lot.

Each time I die, I have to start over. Do you realize how difficult it is to start over in this day and age? Near impossible. Not completely, mind, but I've had lots of practice. Of course, then there's the little fact that I've got to avoid anyone who might have seen me die. It gets difficult. Enough about that, though.

I just died. Now, I've got to start again.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"I always start with a shirt. The right shirt, I have found, makes anything possible.

"No, that's it," I replied. "Send it to the Jupiter Hotel, room 14358."

"Very good, sir."

Shirt, pants, and a pair of shoes later, I was set. Black, with silver piping -- upperclass, but not too much so. With this outfit, nobody would question me when I charged it all to the room and left.

I'd gotten over the little guilty pangs of stiffing others with the bills about 50-odd deaths ago.

Dying is bad enough -- waking up naked in a foreign town has its own inconveniences.

I'd need a new identity, of course. I thought maybe this time something that didn't involve guns, explosives, or rabid animals. Maybe that had something to do with all those deaths. Nah.

Or I could get a job at the post-office? Or drive a taxi in NY? Ooh, how about this time I go for volunteer at the aquarium -- they have sharks!

The reason I keep dying is for the dumbest yet most ironic reason of all. I die from laughing. I love to laugh but laughter can be fatal when you're facing off against the world's deadliest joke. It's TERRIBLE!

Anyway, so avoiding people who've seen me die is really sad. What's really sad is that every time, no matter how hard I try to avoid him Ceren always finds me. Speaking of, he walked over to me after entering my room.

"Not again," I groaned. "Ceren?"

"But of course!" he said happily. "It's lovely to see you, too, Darrien. Quite an amazing death that time, I've gotta say. You exploded from laughing! Too cool."

Because we have a shirt and we have pants, but we have no head, Bob. How can we continue without a head? Hold that thought! I'll see what I can do!

I decided to change all my personal histories and kill Ceren before he could reveal my secrets to everyone this time. And how could any of us hold thoughts without heads? I rang room service. "Send up a gun and two or three heads, please."


12 days later, fat and happy on the cruise ship Dianetics, I sipped and sipped and sipped a martini from each of my 3 heads. Plastic surgery is amazing nowadays.

When the cruise director tries to get me to go to the comedy show, I politely decline. I'd rather read my nice, boring assembly manual thank you very much.

Not that this is any guarantee of safety. Those things are heavy, and let me tell you, I'd rather have all three heads explode than die of another aggravated ingrown toenail that gets infected after getting a book dropped on it.

It's a tragic life, mine is. One day I hope I'll be able to die a full death. Maybe by zombies, or pirates. Or Jedi Knights, or Sith Lords, or ... or anything, really, other than something boring. It's gotten to the point where I hope I'll die an excruciatingly painful death. That way they won't say on my grave "Died from laughing." Or "Killed tragically by dust bunnies." Or "This loser died. No one cares." Actually that last one might be okay. Maybe.

"Oh, Darrien," the dust bunnies said, and laughed. Creepily.

Oh no. Not the dust bunnies.