Headshot

1

All you heard was the sound of the gun, then I was dead.

I look at my limp bloody body. A perfect circle was engraved on my long forehead. It's not often that you get the chance to hang around for a little while longer. No one really knows how we can but there have been several theories on it. I've heard only the educated and rich get the right to hang around, though that would be illogical. Only the simple-minded would think they get to say who has a right and who doesn't. With a sigh I take a closer look at the wound on my forehead. Headshot. Not bad. I try to recall the pain and what dying felt like but nothing would come to mind. It is true what they say then, nobody will ever know exactly what dying feels like, as well as what happens after death. My mother always said that most people don't normally stay around when they die, in which they have a "pleasant" death. The ones who supposedly hang around are miserable and are looking for a missing piece. Though, as miserable as dying is said to be, I feel carefree.

I look at my surroundings with calm eyes and attempt to recollect the event of my death. The gray dull bricks of the tiny town were covered in dew. The fog in the night appeared to be quite thick, especially in the side street I was standing in. I vaguely remembered why I had come down this road. Looking back down at my corpse lays my tiny red purse that holds all of my necessities. With a quick gasp I remembered. I remembered it all. And I wasn't the only one shot. We were only the first.