I’m going to die soon. I’ve had this feeling for about a year now. I’ve split my head open twice, now, in my life. The first time was when I was about 4 or 5. I was running on a playground that used small pebbles as its cushiony flooring. My feet slid, I fell forehead first onto the rocks. The only other thing I remember is my dad used my favorite Barney shirt to apply pressure to the bloody wound. The second time was last year, in Philadelphia, at Mac’s Tavern. I went to the bathroom and did not anticipate the door to be made of the lightest wood imaginable. I used too much force and the sharp length flung right into the center of my forehead, splicing me open. It healed into a faint scar.

I can’t get rid of this feeling that I am going to die soon. It weighs down my heart. I don’t know how it’s going to happen. Part of me thinks it will be by my own hand. This feeling started about a year ago (it’s 2023 right now). Quite a few of my family died within a matter of months. I lost a grandmother, grandfather, a man who is not my father but may as well have been, and the most gruesome was a childhood pet.

My best theory, so far, is that when they all died they started following me around. The second I split my head open, some of their ghosts wormed their way into my body through a combination of said split head and immediately going on a haunted cemetery tour. It’s sad that this is my best theory. It’s sad that part of me does want to die soon.

I keep waiting for it. My life, it keeps getting harder. It all feels tied to money. I want to take someone out, buy them dinner. I cannot afford it. Some weeks I can barely afford a bus pass. I’m not on all my medication so going outside is a bit hard right now. It’s not that I don’t want to be on my medication, I cannot afford it. That being said, last year I was on all my medication and still had this feeling.

I’m going to die soon. The feeling is bubbling back up. I cried in the bathroom at work tonight. Looked at the cleaning supplies. I thought about hurting myself. The heat of metal popping against my skin, even now, sounds relieving. I just kept crying. I can’t do that. I will not do that. I want to, though. I don’t know if believe that I’m actually going to die soon. I just wish things were easier.

My body has betrayed me

It’s turning into marbles

The place I once had thoughts

Is now filled with head-splitting clacking

The place where my breath once flowed

Now feels suffocated

The place where I tried speak, to call

Instead they all spilled out

Sometimes they wash away

Only from time to time

Instead of marbles I’m me again

Dreading the next bout

So I'm sorry you have to see me like this

I wished it on better terms

I wished it in another body

One that was more my own

You seem very warm and welcoming

Although the gates aren't closed

When locked behind and I can't escape

Is that when the teeth come out?

When looking at you I'm reminded

Of the man who brought me to life

Though one thing is different, if I may say

You don't scare me as much

Everything is wrong here. I’m hunched over my counter. Smoke fills my nostrils, that means fire is spreading. I lug myself up. My head sears with pain, I don’t even want to think about the stab wounds. Actually, I should think about the stab wounds. They fucking hurt. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline I’d probably already be gone. All I wanted to do was have a nice vacation where I rent out my cabin and hunt the people who stay there. Is that so wrong? It used to be so simple. This group was supposed to be simple. Just two women, that’s it. Simple? Fuck no. These women like to fight.

I look around my once pristine cabin. It looks like shit now. Oh well, it’s all gonna burn down anyways. I see my knife on the ground, the assholes shouldn’t have left it for me. I bend over and scoop it up, “If a fight is what you want,” I begin to yell as I walk out of the burning building, “Then that’s what you’ll GET!” As soon as I step out the door I hear a crack and my vision goes black.

I start to blink my eyes open. My head was searing before, but now? Now it feels like it’s going to explode. Parts of my face feel wet, probably blood. The two women are standing in front of me. Actually, it looks like there’s four of them now. I spit in their direction. They’re speaking but all I hear is high pitched sirens. If I can muster the strength to break these ropes I can get em’. I’m sure of it.

The sirens turn to echoes of sounds and then the echoes mesh into actual words. “Why are you doing this?” The Tall One asks. There’s only one of her now. She doesn’t deserve an answer. I give her what I feel like is a warm smile instead. My face suddenly turns as it is met with an open hand from the Short One. Strange, it didn’t feel like anything.

“She asked you a question,” Short One has my knife, cute.

I flex, using everything I have, and start writhing under the ropes. They get a lil’ loose but not substantially so. I’m noticing my breathing more, well it’s less like breathing and more like heaving. Also that flexing took a lot out of me, the two are becoming four again how about that. Neat.

“I SAID,” shouts the Tall One, “Why are you doing this?” A gun is pressed to my head. Did she always have that?

Maybe I should tell her. Maybe I should tell them both. I’m dyin’ either way. Dyin’, hm, is that was this is? I open my mouth as if to speak, but I make sure to not make a sound.

“What?” the Short Ones ask in unison. The Tall One leans in a bit as I repeat the motion but this time make a slight gurgle sound as if I’m trying to get something out. Just a lil’ more, please. As if she heard me, the Tall One leans in right by my face.

The last bit of adrenaline I have hits as muster the strength to say clearly, “For fun.” I lean over and bite her ear. My mouth fills with blood, it tastes like iron, it tastes alive. I hear a scream and feel a sharp pain in my collar. Warmth rushes down my body. I bet if I tried it, it would taste rotten.