“The Moment of Death”

This is my 100th post on this blog, which is fun. In this one-page story, I tried something weird, and that’s the beauty of this exercise. It gives you freedom to experiment.

When the heart monitor produced that piercing monotone sound, it began. The doctors and nurses shook their heads, took off their masks and gloves, and checked their watches, but they stayed there in the room. And very quickly, I watched them age in front of me. The doctor’s gray hair turned a shimmering white, and his face fell, his eyes dropping from his head, his skin peeling back to reveal an increasingly bleached skull.

The nurses were as frozen in place as he was and aged just as quickly. The makeup fell away, the clothes rotted and dried and fell to the floor, and I saw their bodies droop there and dry like hunks of beef hanging on hooks. The paint on the walls fell away like skin, and windows cracked and dropped from their place, and there was an instantaneous blinking from the greater and lesser lights.

In what seemed like a moment’s time, the bed below me dropped, and I was on a patch of grass. The concrete and rebar and sheetrock and wires and pipes disintegrated from ceiling to floor until the bones were standing over me in a green meadow. Long green grass grew up around me, but grass changed to snow then grass then snow, and the flashes of the seasons quickened to a blink.

My senses became dull from overstimulation, with the only constant being the sturdy bone statues standing over me like colossi. Everything slowed in an instant. Light flashed around me, so my vision became nothing but whiteness, and I could feel the fire on my skin, and the sound of the explosion rolled over me in waves, and I could feel the pressure of the sound pressing me into the dirt.

When the light faded, and the sound died down, I could see the outlines of bodies standing over me, and I could hear their voices, and their clothes were bright white like the fire that swept over me.

About Adam Nannini

The greatest writer of his generation ... which isn't saying much.
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