The Summer I Died

by Ryan C. Thomas

If I’d only known what was going to happen next I would have taken the gun from Tooth and put bullets in both our brains.

You don’t just concede defeat in these circumstances. You take every second you can find and use it to pray for another few seconds. Hope is a cruel bitch.

The human brain has a difficult time rationalizing the absurd. It’s like watching aliens land in your backyard and take a dip in your pool. You think, “This is a dream, any moment now I’ll wake up.” And then you do wake up. And you laugh about it and go back to sleep. Only we weren’t waking up.

Life really is amazing, and when you’re about to lose it, you finally notice that you never really took it in before. And you realize the sheer magnitude of what it involves, from your first kiss to your hundredth slice of pizza. I guess that’s why those tears drifted down my cheeks.

I was crying because I was now a monster. Roger Huntington was dead.

I didn’t know why. Because everyone has a purpose, right? Because we’re all part of God’s master plan, a master plan that lets evil men take away the lives of innocent people, that lets some of us live while our friends and loved ones die before our eyes. Or maybe because God’s just up there rolling some dice, using us as tokens in a universal board game. Or maybe it’s bad luck, or maybe it’s good luck, or maybe shit just happens and you deal with it. Or maybe the dice are loaded so your number never comes up, or maybe the game is fixed. Who knows?