Every:time — a short story about coming back to life
It’s funny how people seem to get death wrong. You don’t just disappear or go to heaven or hell, you’re just there. Unable to interact with anyone or anything. You’re just sitting there, waiting for them to take you away. At least, in your case. Me? I just come back every time.
I don’t know why, I don’t know how but this is my case. Even now I’m sitting here, waiting, looking at what seems to be a gorgeous being staring at me with a blank expression. Maybe, maybe just that of disgust? — She’s — not fazed by the commotion behind me. I died again this time, but for the right reason. See, I’m not the best at handling stressing situations. Nor am I great with romance. I’ve been doing a few walks around the block to clear my head when I saw this little kid next to a dimwitted parent. The dad was paying more attention to his phone than to the little guy, in the parking lot near the gas station — and the kid, the kid suddenly took off to chase… I don’t know why he did that but he just dashed towards traffic.
I don’t know why I did what I did but I wanted answers. Maybe, maybe I can be a hero and maybe they’ll forgive me for being an idiot. Or maybe I’ll just die this time and be sparred of having to explain to everyone why I’m not concerned at all anymore. Pretty hard to explain to my in-laws why I’m not as worried for tomorrow as they are. I know I’ll have a tomorrow. So I dashed towards the kid thinking I could get in front of the car and it will stop. Or worst case, I’ll just pick him up and side-step the vehicle. Turns out, I’m not as good as approximating speed as I thought I was, so I had to wing-it and shove the kid away. Barely made it too, just got my ankle swept by the moron behind the steering wheel.
There’s a woman screaming there. I don’t know her and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know me. Bystanders are staring at her while someone she does know is nicking my belongings. I can hear sirens wailing so either the cops or the paramedics are on their way. It’s a shait ton of commotion happening and — she — seems unfazed. I know the kid’s alright because — she’s — the only one here. Last time I died with other people there was one of these bastards for every freaking soul in that boat. — She — was there too, maybe a little bit absent minded. Not much to do in my case.
I will go back, no point in staying “dead” much longer. I have lost enough brain cells as it is, might as well get done with it. Hope there’s enough blood to hide the scars so they won’t see the healing process.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
You know when you’re drowning and gasping for air? It’s kinda like that but instead of water filling my lungs it’s air. And a sharp pain in my chest. I want to scream but I can’t. I never could, not when coming back. Besides, I’m pretty sure that will freak everyone out. They’re scared enough as it is — dead man standing.
I try to move my left leg but that seems to be broken. I’m not worried knowing that It might be alright before we reach the hospital. All I’m thinking now is.. have I made the news? I look around searching for any camera crews, or at least some smartphone enthusiasts pointing their cameras at me. Not much luck, they’re still busy taping the screaming lady; I swear she could probably sorta join the opera at this point. The lungs on that woman. And speaking of lungs, mine reached their maximum capacity. Might as well focus on breathing.
“Step away, step away everyone” — I hear someone say. I look towards them, here, sitting on my arse with my legs contorted. Two guys, paramedics alright, casually walking towards me with their bags in hand. Or not, one of them stopped for the kid. Dead man standing here while the little bugger has but a few scratches and a story to tell at the pub when he’ll be older.
“Are you okay? Do you feel anything? Try to lie down! Look at me” — he keeps saying in a slow manner like I’m mentally disabled or something. Could be true, don’t know how much time I’ve spent without oxygen. I lie down and now they’re trying to raise me on a barge. Doesn’t seem like my leg healed and they’re really not looking forward to touching it. I better sleep it off, still tired from the comeback.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
“We came as soon as we heard. No, he’s our son-in-law! Yes we’d like to see him”. I’d reach out and call for my in-laws but I’m a bit busy at the moment trying to explain to this discount Oprah version of a nurse and 70’s scientist stereotype of a doctor that they should x-ray me again. You see, they rushed me through the process when I got in here and my left leg did not heal properly by then. Now they want to do a “procedure” on me.
“I’M LITERALLY JUMPING ON IT, IT’S NOT BROKEN — LET ME GO— IT’S NOT BROKEN”, I yell as the nurse tries to pin me down! “In what freaking medical book did you learn that a guy can walk and jump just fine ON A FREAKING. BROKEN. FOOT”.
“Just stay down sir, it’s going to be alright” she says, almost respectfully but I can see my logic is no match for how annoyed she is with me. The doc is at a loss for words looking at the x-ray, then at my leg. He keeps doing this like they’ll match up at one point if he tries hard enough.
Another doctor barges in. She’s dressed in green gowns and has a medical coat and blue bag slippers — fresh out of a procedure I believe. Pulls the doc’s x-ray straight from his hand, looks at them and just rushes towards me.
“I’m going to ask you this just once — can you raise your left leg for me?”. I nod and raise it just a bit, holding back a somewhat misogynistic joke — not the time, nor place. I bet my wife would have found it funny. “See, it’s not broken! Just a few seconds ago I was jumping on it. You all need to check your x-ray machine before someone get’s sliced’n’diced due to that thing”. I know there’s nothing wrong with it but I’m fine with just being a hero and not a weirdo.
“Take him to the x-ray again” she says as she turns to the nurse. She submits gracefully to the request and pulls the wheel chair she used before. Doesn’t even say anything to me just glances at me expectantly as if she’s saying “If you can damn walk, you can damn walk yourself over to this chair now”. She’s in no mood to be annoyed more by me so I better comply myself.
“So doc when can I be discharged? No broken bone in my body” I ask in vain. She’s more concerned with the damn medical reports and keeps staring at them. Noira the nurse wheels me away while I sigh. At least my in-laws are here, this should make for a good holiday story at their table — the story of how I saved a kid, broke a car and walked away with my innards intact. Heck that would make a good story for a book I could write. I smile at the thought of making money via interviews. Free publicity, money and recognition. Maybe things won’t be so borin — — *ouch*. Noira shoved me into a damn bench. “Hey, I know it says broken on the x-ray but let’s not make them match up okay” I turn to her and notice her pale face. She quickly raises her right hand and clutches her thumb, index and middle finger and does a cross sign — the orthodox way of doing it. I turn around expecting to see — her — again.
All kinds of thoughts rush through my mind as I turn to face what ever made blood rush away from her face — are they here to collect? Is it a spirit or any other kind of being? Is it over? Fear suddenly takes a hold of me for the first time in a while but It soon is replaced with a feeling of disgust. “A DAMN PRIEST” I say, a bit too loud.
He stares at me with smirk under his mustache. The priest grabs his cross and exclaims “Here we have the result of faith, of our one true God. A miracle has happened and this fearless boy has been rewarded for his good deed. Pray with me children and let’s thank God for he, truly, is generous”. He inches towards me as he says this and places his cross on my head. “Blessed be my child for God has smiled upon you!”. I feel the urge to stand up and challenge his faith but I’m afraid Noira the Norse Nurse will deck me where I stand and I’ll have more than a broken foot appear on the x-ray. I guess there are a few more things scarier than “god”.
There’s a guy there with a red badge and white letters — local press it seems. He takes a picture of the priest and me, no doubt ordered by the pr agency behind the Church company. Suddenly the free marketing I was wishing for is being replaced by the image of me on wooden artifacts that are sold all around the cathedral premises. Not good, I really don’t want me being associated with the church. “They are worse than politicians” — I say to myself.
I face my father and signal for his help. He’s a nice guy — I like him. Hard worker, really tall. I’d be afraid to face him in a basketball court. He steps in and asks the priest — father to “father” — to allow me to pass. Noira seemed shocked at his intervention but before she can react the good doctor takes hold of the wheel chair and brushes past all three of them. Photo guy starts taking pictures of her and I’m pretty sure it’s not for his job. I think Noira notices too as she moves in on him while the priest and “dad” follow me with their gaze.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
“Everything seems fine, more than fine actually. H-O-W is that possible” she asks staring at me like a lawyer at a possible convict.
“How should I know? I’m just glad I won’t have to deal with that nurse any longer! She’s more scarier than my 2nd grade math teacher” I jokingly reply. She’s not impressed.
“HOW can YOU, after having your legs swept by a car, mid jump, be able to walk or even stand? I saw the report from the paramedics. The state you were found in and the state you are in right now doesn’t match. NOT. ONE. BIT”.
I like the doc and I can understand her frustration. I‘m pretty sure she’s the one that signed me in and her initial report won’t match the new results. That’s more paperwork for her to fill now and more explanations to give to the council. I try to assure her I’m not going to fill a malpractice lawsuit but before I can say much she stops me. “If this is a freaking PR stunt for the freaking church I swear to your mighty god I’ll — “ and she stops there. “Look, are you feeling alright? Any pain, any weird sensation, anything at all?”.
“Nope, I’m fine. I told you, maybe that x-ray did not belong to me”?
“No, we had no cases like yours today.”
“Well, can I go and buy a pack of cigarettes at least? I feel like I’m being interrogated and I don — “
“Sure, go ahead. You can survive a car so what’s cancer to someone like you” — she says as she heads towards the door. I feel relieved. Noira the Naggy Norse nurse is nowhere to be seen on the other side of the door.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
“I totally forgot about the kid” I say breaking the silence in the car. “What happened to the little bugger?”.
“The website said he got off with a few scratches, kinda like you. He’s alright, he was taken to Saint Alexander Children Hospital for a check, but he seemed fine.”
“Great!” I exclaim. “This could have ended so much worse”.
“Yeah, we would have been looking at a new family record” says my new father, as silence tires to settle in the car once again.
“She’s gonna kill me, isn’t she?” I rhetorically ask.
“Probably, but she’s been worried sick. Sandra is driving her from the capital as we speak, we’ve been on the phone the entire time you were fighting with the little lovely nurse and that doctor”. He smirks and says “Honestly, she was relieved the moment she heard you screaming from the top of your lungs. Best confirmation ever. I take it screaming matches are still a thing for you two aren’t they?”.
“We don’t fight that much anymore… Honestly I actually miss the fighting. Used to lead up to some interesting situations” I say slightly lowering my voice near the end of the sentence.
“Ogh I bet” says my new father.
The entire drive home goes silent once again.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
“YOU COULD HAVE DIED YOUR FREAKING MORON” I hear just as I open the car door. There’s she is, 132 pounds of pure love and dedication just waiting to pounce on me. When I screw it up, I do it with style. “For god damn once just stop trying to be a hero”. I brace myself for a well placed punch in the shoulder. Instead she hugs me tight and kisses my chin. “You’re an idiot” she says, slowly caressing my soul patch.
“Great to see you too” I reply. I try to come up with a snappy and fun retort but my mind is drawing blanks. All I can think is I almost broke my record of 3 consecutive days without screwing something up. Before I can say anything else she looks at me, mildly annoyed, and says: “Mind telling me who your friend is? I found her waiting at the gate when Sandra dropped me off, said she wanted to speak with you”.
“Friend? What friend?” I ask curiously.
“Tall, blonde with curly hair. Never met her before” says the love of my life with a smirk on her face.
“Wait, did you just let a random person in? What if it was a criminal an — “. She punches my elbow — there’s no avoiding that one.
“The only killer here is me if you ever pull a stunt like that again! Let’s go in and see what she wants. Couldn’t get much out of her. I basically talked the entire time.. well, cried would be a better word. Wailed seems pretty strong too”.
She grabs my hand and leads me to the house while my new father closes the garage door. My mother in law was as silent as ever.
Just as we walk in through the hallway into the kitchen I see an all too familiar and eerie face stare back at me. — She’s — here. I look at my wife and then again at her, heart pumping. “You.. you can see her?”. She stares back at me like I just pulled one of my moronic dad jokes. “Yes.. Why? You don’t?” she jokingly asks, trying to play along.
And for the first time ever — she spoke — . “I need to talk”.
End of part one! You can read part 2 here.
My name is Ciprian Bacioiu. I run a small, game development, business where I design games for PC (Windows, Linux) and mobile (Android). In my spare time I freelance as a technical writer to fund the development of my next game. You can help support me and my work by purchasing one of my games on steam or itch, by becoming a patron or by donating via paypal.
Every:time is the first story in a series of short stories that I’m writing on medium. If they get enough attention and feedback I plan on re-writing them in the form of a visual novel/text game! Please leave a clap or comment with feedback and suggestions. They mean a lot to me and can help shape a future game.
