tales from mania, part 2

sirens raced out like morning light on fast forward, quickly waking a sleeping plain.  they interrupt air and quiet, causing dog hair to raise and people to pause and pray. I never thought I’d be be the cause of such commotion.  two men—one tall and brown haired, the other round with a big laugh—strapped me onto the raised, roller emergency bed. they wore bright, rough coats and spoke gently. they strapped me down, with my Bible on my lap. their big black boots thumped down the hospital halls as they wheeled me away.

the lanky one sat in back with me. he hooked me up to a vitals screen. question marks blinked on a couple panels.

ah yes, of course. I’m dead. that’s why the medical gadget can’t find my pulse! HaHA! inner smirk.

“thank you for carrying me,” I said.

“not a problem,” said the medic. “you’re the lightest thing we picked up all day!”

because I’m not here! I’m dead!

two paramedics picked me up and wheeled me off to the back of an ambulance en route to the mental ward. they performed their duty, with grace. my body strapped down, speeding away, meanwhile my mind went on vacation to the Milky Way where stars twirled in deep dark empty space, where lost thoughts shot like pinballs or shooting balls of bright gas, disguised as truth. my own world where I could play and not be chided for saying I died. in my mind, life left my mortal tent long ago.

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