Dave Is Dead
Before the Firebird was crushed to a cube, Dave marvels at how easy it is to transport dead bodies. All that matters is having nothing to hide. Like most things in plain sight, the dead take a while to see. Like sunspots in the corner of your eye. Like a wallet on a nightstand. Like wrinkles on loved ones.
Before the long march to Graceland, Dave had little experience with death, which he was a bummer. A grandmother died, a distant aunt or two, and of course the crash in town with the mangling and the tragedy. When he heard about friends going to wakes he felt like he was missing out on something. Not fun, per se — but something. The first significant death in Dave’s life is his own, and he doesn’t believe that counts. Just thinking about it betrays the significance. Tom Sawyer went to his funeral, after all, and he was a dick.
Before his friends find him face down in a puddle of Ramen, Dave knows he landed in Africa. He knows this even though it is dark, the sky beginning to cast off night’s navy. He is at least somewhere Africa-like, he reasons. Like death, he had never experienced the continent while he was alive. But he wanted to. He is tickled by the idea that this might be his chance.
His skin feels very white. Dave is conscious it’s because he is naked, and he’s conscious it should make him nervous. But Dave won’t cover himself. This isn’t like Dave, who still considers getting pantsed at a birthday party one of his all-time worst memories. His calm in the face of buck-naked, more than waking up in Africa or knowing his best friend’s car is going to get totaled or -seeing, in some dim corner of his vision, his dead body slumped at his kitchen table (still blood warm, covered in cold ramen soup), ishow Dave knows he’s dead.
The air is cool and the sky above him brightening; his hands clench and release dry scraps of grass. His pupils are large and breathing shallow. There is a river below where long-horned cattle split the brush and chew cud. A man in camouflage waves, laughing at something Dave can’t see. The sun, no bigger than a star-point, peers over the mountains.
Eventually, Dave supposes, he’ll have to get up.
Remember, however, that all of this is before. Dave never planned to die, especially so young. But Dave figured he could use this moment to start something new instead of getting caught up in what he left behind.
And thank god, because Dave left behind a fucking mess.
Welcome to the Unfulfilled Novel, a series of interlocking, multi-media stories following the life, death, and afterlife of Dave and his dead body. Follow the links, skip sections, or contribute your own — all you have to do is figure out how Dave died.
