A very short story I wrote in college
I used to spend a lot of time in the university library, come to think of it.
No. 97: A very short story I wrote in college
You may or or may know that I studied Literature & Creative Writing at the University of California, San Diego.
Which doesn’t really matter — at all.
But if there’s anything worth noting about my collegiate days, it’s that I’m still — five years later — trying to unpack all that I’ve learned from my excellent teachers and apply those learnings to my ever-developing craft.
Sometimes, I sift through the little stories I typed on my favorite library computer.
This week, here’s one.
Have an excellent weekend, everyone.
<3,
Matt
Quick and Painless
Saying the words quick and painless reassures me somewhat. I say it a lot under my breath or in my head or even out loud, over and over again, because that’s how the doctors said it would be. They said I have nothing to worry about except staying relaxed and thinking happy thoughts. I have plenty of those, usually.
Staying relaxed is another story. What worries me most isn’t how it’s going to happen as how they say it’s going to happen. You can’t trust doctors. They tell you what you want to hear instead of what you don’t. When you ask them if they might elaborate, they string together a bunch of shell sentences that mean essentially nothing. My questions aren’t the easiest in the world, I admit. But even then. Is it so hard to say I don’t know if you really don’t?
Today they said it wouldn’t happen until tomorrow, maybe the next day. But I know it’s going to happen today. I think it’s safe to say it isn’t normal for the walls to undulate when I stare at them for too long, or for the windows to appear octagonal instead rectangular. Last I checked, seeing a wet eyeball where the wall-mounted television usually hangs doesn’t equate to a healthy state of mind.
Mom left about an hour ago to get us a couple sandwiches. I’m not hungry, but I know she was so I asked her to get my usual, turkey and cheddar on wheat bread, no pickles. She likes doing things for me, especially now, so I let her when I can. I’m hoping is it happens before she gets back. That would really be for the best. Best for mom to know her son was waiting his favorite sandwich.
The doctor comes in.
How’s it going, bud?
I give him a thumbs up and crack a smile, as is my wont.
Well you look great, he says. I’ll check on you tomorrow morning, okay?
I give him a thumbs up again and hold my smile until he leaves.
Then it starts, just like I knew it would.
It’s this coldness at the bottom of my spine. It makes its way upwards, up and up, one vertebra at a time like a rising waterline. It gets to my chin and my eyes go blurry and whitish. I repeat my sort of reassuring mantra because I’m afraid but it doesn’t help much. I can’t even make out the popcorn ceiling anymore. It’s just white. My body feels magnetically charged, rubbery, numb, like when your arm falls asleep but everywhere.
Then I’m not really sure where I am.
And I’m not really sure what just happened.
But I’m almost positive that I’m dead.
Which, is this really what it feels like?
Is that really — it?
I always imagined it being something more extravagant, like a meteor burning up as it enters — or in my case leaves — the atmosphere. If not that, something tantamount to a star exploding, a supernova, both extremely violent and unimaginably beautiful at the same time. I thought the much rumored moment when a human life is extinguished would include a little more pizzazz. Some sound and color. The action of cold water hitting white hot metal. Catharsis. Realization. Drama.
But it’s none of that.
It’s quick and painless, just like the doctors said it would be. ♦
Weekly Three
HEAR: I believe I’ve posted this before, but it’s too good not to post it again. “The Semimodular Bird of Jazz” by Felipe Gordon.
READ: A very good critique of the millennial sex novel. (The Drift)
VIEW: Chris Arnade is a photographer who visits cities around the world, walks through them, and snaps pictures. Then he posts them along with written reflections of what he saw. Here’s his recent post from Istanbul. (Chris Arnade walks the world)
Quicky and painless, they say
Pleasure and pain, they say too!
But pleasure without the pain for change is great tae ;)
Nice one. It was quick and painless 😂😂😂