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I don't know. I don't know who put the knife in my body. There's so many birthmarks. Or, at least I think they're birthmarks. I don't remember not having them. When the detectives figured out my birthmarks were the wounds they wondered how I was alive shortly followed by who could hate me so much. They talked to my classmates. One detective had each one say what is their biggest insecurity about their body. No one knew why she required this question to be asked, but were astonished to see that the insecurities of each student I identified as a bully mapped out my birthmarks. They were knives of jealousy.

An accidental submarine run in, that's all it took. They happened to be nuclear subs, one American, one Russian. In a split second the world was immersed in nuclear war. The stockpiling began; the naive went for food and toilet paper, those more aware geiger counters or dosometers, and the batteries required to keep the functioning. The devices and batteries stored in every possible location to attempt assurance one would survive if they survived to use them. Most of the immediate deaths happened in the first forty eight hours. Missles were launched at all major cities and nuke stockpiles immediately when war was declared. Most were vaporized before they could clock what was happening, more still died of radiation burns so severe, their flesh was no longer connected to their bones. A small number suffered the slow, agonizing demise of radiation sickness. The length of their suffering diminished but worsened by the lack of medical care. These unlucky souls were caught up in the explosions at stockpile sites because these were the only ones that created substantial fallout.

That was it, the war was over. It ended faster than it started since the countries involved were immediately annihilated after years of stalemate.

What survivors there were sought sanctuary in less affected regions. Rural healthcare infrastructure was easily overwhelmed by survivors in desperate need of care they weren't equipped to provide. The extent of irradiated land is too vast to create monitered exclusion zones, especially since the government and economy are in shambles. Survivors hoard geiger counters to this day and pull them out when trecks to the old cities are undertaken in remembrance of the day forever etched into their minds. Country borders are used as checkpoints crossed only after radiological briefings. Permission is limited to survivors, ever since the decontamination efforts were abandoned. I've heard stories from survivors who have dared to return of the wildlife that thrives in the absence of humans. The former territories of the Russian Federation and the United States of America serve as vast reminders of what happens when countries have nuclear stockpiles.

Was full of life

One of the best places

to live in the USSR

the amusment park

set to be dedicated on May Day

it would never open.

A night like any other

Until awoken

their lives flashing before their eyes

Literally

when buses finally came

They left for 'three days'

Never to return

Lives upended

by faulty reactor design

the lack of a containment building

slowly fading to obscurity

memories brought up

when radiation dose

causes reaction to the dye

used in TB testing

A government based

on lies and secrecy

blaming operators

Who were the best in the country

Set to get awards

and promotions

Attempting a test

No one else would do

They were set up for failure

Dyatlov cites the rulebook

They did nothing wrong

but this is distorted by Soviet lies

The remnants of the Soviet secret city,

Pripyat?

Reclaimed by nature

The words fell into place

like leaves to the ground

Hard to start

easy flow

Patchy groundwork

More layers to go

Kicked aside

Raked up with dew

Fun to jump in

though they can hurt you

numerous as they are

You can't find what you look for

Always more leaves

Always another fall

Though time is limiting

and death comes to all

When the leaves are gone

the tree remains

New leaves will grow

And fall again.

There are people who care.

Is the line I often come back to

when I'm struggling to be.

I grew up with buying certain

foods, clothes, and toys

categorized as special occasion things.

Hand-me-downs filled my dresser

Though some I barely wore

Clothes were welcome gifts

And I'd still be happy if they were

I'm in college and still ask

if I can get a choclate bar.

There are people I need to see

And those to stay in touch with

Songs I need to sing

And those I'll put up with

And one day I hope

My mom won't have to break herself

just so there's money to scrape by with.

I have more things to write

And many more to do

As a lonely neurodivergent

There's one thing I come back to:

If I were gone

a number of people

would be impacted

And I could never see

my mother in retirement.

There's people who care

especially those I care about

This is why I don't wanna die

even when existing is something

I could do without.

The title is lyrics from the Queen song Bohemian Rhapsody by Freddie Mercury

Livin' in a powder keg givin' off sparks

ain't water under the bridge

I don't belong here

Head spinning

no kidding

You're a firework

The brightest colors

fill my head

Addicted to a certain kind of sadness

Walk the plank

Remember the dream

With our eyes wide open we

bullets scream

to the sound of the beat

Floating around in ecstasy

I was born this way

I was born in the U. S. A.

Sure, the book happened to be in my seat. I found the book, but I didn't find it. It was placed on the plane meticulously. It was part of my fate. As the book explains, we all have a fate. Mine is to visit the realm of the living to see what kind of horror humans are making on their own. I then take that information to Hell's main office, so they can make ‘improvements’ to the punishments and general awfulness of the place. Hell still finds a way to be less bad than living for me. No wars or discrimination, everyone is treated like shit. Even the billboards they added recently aren't as unhinged as some on the sides of freeways or toll roads. It's incredible humans aren't the Demons, and Earth isn't Hell. Sorry, I didn't mention what the book is called, did I? It's a leatherbound copy of On a Pale Horse. Thing is, what I see in Hell isn't what anyone else sees. Everyone sees what has been determined to be the correct level of bad for them. I have to continue returning to Earth because it's my own personal hell. That's also why Hell looks very corporate to me. Its appearance has changed over my existence here. I've been part of Hell so long, it once looked like polluted Victorian England during the height of the industrial revolution. It has evolved to match whatever the most heinous human setting is at current ever since. I don't remember my human life anymore, yet it haunts me. Next time I get on the plane, I won't touch the book. Funny how the others in Hell think anything can scar me more than They Live. Especially now that I know you could switch aliens for Demons and the premise wouldn't be too far off. The flaw being that a mistake such as allowing humans to get their hands on the special glasses would never happen. Or would it? I don’t know how much of a difference it would make anyway. If anything the Demons in disguise are more sane than the actual people anyway.

Rework of original:

The victims got a call a week before each of their respective murders. They were told they'd be fine if they never missed a call. With jobs and busy lives this was an impossible task. The first call each missed they got a voice-mail. It explained in gruesome detail what their final moments would entail. Now everyone waits in horror to be the next to get that call, and authorities scramble to find the killer before they miss one call.

Different idea, same name:

Protagonist misses the one call they swore they never would; the one from that friend saying they had hoped they would pick up, but this is goodbye. The one who they were closest to, but who had no other friends. The friend you tell yourself you'll check up on, to make sure their okay, because you know they're depressed. They now blame their self for the friend's passing and spiral. The movie follows them through their grief over one missed call.