That’s weird, I shouldn’t be alive. There is absolutely no way I survived that I was literally crushed right down my middle.

  My body shudders violently at the memory of the feeling. It wasn’t pain, not really it was closer to a surprise than anything. By the time I could even begin to feel pain it was already over.

  Such a pathetic way to go, crushed by a damn ice cream truck. I suppose it’s slightly better than the alternative, dying in a hospital room so sick and corrupted by the tumor until I’m not even really there.

  I sigh deeply, but that’s when I notice… I don’t have lungs. I haven’t been breathing this whole time. How long has it been? Thirty seconds?

  I try to force air down my lungs, but there’s one small problem. There isn’t any air and I don’t have lungs to begin with.

  Panic races through my body, but as soon as it arrives it smothers itself out. What’s the point? I’m already dead after all.

  Such a worthless and miserable life, why did it have to go like that? I think back on the first day of my long death. The day of my diagnosis, Pancreatic ductal adenocarcinoma. Cancer, less than twenty years old and I had cancer.

  But it wasn’t the cancer that really killed me, not the cancer in my body. No, it was the cancerous middlemen. Those filthy rats, who make a fortune off of denying coverage. Hoping you get too sick to fight it and eventually die from it.

  That’s exactly what happened too, it started with the denial for even getting the scans. It was like every single thing I did had to be appealed. No matter how necessary it was, denied. Every single thing was denied. At first I thought it had to be a mistake, surely there was no way this was legal. Denying cancer treatments, that had to be a line too far to cross.

  How na?ve I was, thinking that they had morals. Those people, if it was even fair to call them that anymore; they became a parasite. One that drank and drank from their hosts until they dropped dead, only to move on.

  Finally, things were on the up, my treatment was working and I was in remission… and then they had me switch the chemo, then it spread to the brain.

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  It was too late.

  If only I could’ve taken one of those parasites with me. Then at least I could die happy… happier than this. How is it, they just get to take and take and take and take and take. Over and over, and just get to succeed? No karma, no retribution, no justice.

  It’s not fair.

  And then it happens, one moment complete darkness and then I am in a log cabin? I see piles and piles of book. Most with covers with languages I don’t recognize. I look at the floor and see a disgusting and tacky green carpet. It has diamond shapes sewn in, but the color is just… wrong. It is the worst green I’ve ever seen.

  Then I see them, a man on a beanbag chair, one who is staring directly through me as if I am completely transparent. Is this… God?

  “I have nothing to say… you are the exact type of person I hate.” The man states, the coldness of his voice makes me uncontrollably shiver.

  “w-what?” I stammer, suddenly caught off guard by my uncharacteristic response.

  “All that potential and all you can think of is violence.” He sighs, looking at me like dirt.

  All I can think of is violence? That’s utter bullshit. Why is it, always literally always the powerful can walk all over the weak. And then they finally have enough and snap, suddenly it’s an issue?

  I see her face, one much like my own must be now. Withered and laying in that white bed I just avoided dying in. One small mistake, one single response and everything else is forgotten…

  Rage boils my blood; I feel my weak withered arms fill with all the strength I have as I suddenly punch the man as strong as I could.

  He tumbles to the ground surprised; he hits his head. A loud bang echoes through the cabin; mountains of books topple over like dominoes.

  I didn’t even realize but now I’m on top of him, my fists connecting effortlessly.

  Pound

  Blood squirts everywhere, staining the books as the nose of his face caves in. The crunch is surprisingly satisfying. Finally, someone… anyone is getting what they deserve.

  Pound

  Pound

  Pound

  His hands desperately reach for my wrists, trying to stop me. I push them aside as my fingers go for his eyes. One finger pushes hard and then…

  pop

  An unknown force slams me against the wall, I recoil as the contents of my stomach retch up flowing down my shirt. Did I have anything to eat today? It feels so heavy.

  Oh, it’s red. Those are my organs… I see.

  Then it’s black once again.

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