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“127 Seconds” — A Flash Fiction by Gael

I by chance got hold of my old dusty eulogy. I know it kind of seems obscure. I slowly perused through the pages, wiping off the dust and one moment sneezing. Carefully I looked at the content, and most of what I expected to be featured were in there. The obvious—my parents, my big brother, my little sister, my all time favorite hymn: The First Noel; pictures of my friends and I. The pictures were not all that clear but the love and bond was quite evident. All black and white, plain and not easily misunderstood. Because while I was alive, I loved my friends unconditionally. That’s one thing I can say that I am proud of in my life.

It is said that our lives are like a story only published when we die. And my wish in wish was to wish that you may all get to land on a good chapter. A chapter that isn’t that messy, that wouldn’t make you all say that my life was a tragedy, a wasted life. You know roses have thorns but humans mostly uphold the beauty of the petals, the scent. Very few get to behold the beauty of the wildflower. But why? I don’t know. All in all, may you all get to see both my petals and my thorns, but don’t let the sight of the thorns blur your sight of the little petals I had.

Of all the traveling modes in the world, my life decided to take a ride in a roller coaster. One minute, I am up and life seemed all fun and joyous, and the next was like a huge foot had landed on me. One thing that most dead people have as an advantage is when the doctor announces their death time. So sad mine didn’t get a chance to be recorded. Everything happened so fast. The ink spilled unexpectedly. And all I could do was to quickly reach for some tissue paper and wipe it all out before it would stain my items. But you know what? I was slow. Or should I say that time was fast? Either case, one outdid the other.

It’s not easy to tell the difference between two minutes and three minutes without actually having a stop watch or a wrist watch, or anything that the old, greyed humans in the 19th century managed to invent. But certainly with that sisal rope around my neck, tapping out the daylight out of me, I could tell when the fifty third second was and when the thirty seventh second was.

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