My own Funeral

Have you ever woken up under a ceiling you did not recognise? In a bed that wasn't yours? Too much smack, and you end up in the emergency, being intravenously plugged into the matrix, as they're loading you up with vitamins and don't-die juice. Or perhaps last night went really well and even shit-faced, black-out drunk, you still somehow managed to hook up with someone from the bar. Yep, this is the story I'm going with. I closed my eyes, trying hard to remember last night's party. I expected images of people, loud music, lights, but nothing came to mind. I tried picturing the beauty I picked up, but her face eluded me. In fact, I don't remember going out last night at all, or remember anything from yesterday to be more precise. It must have been a wild night for me not to have a single memory of it. But then, where am I?

I was laying on a king-sized bed in a room that was as big as my first apartment. The walls were painted silver with pictures elegantly hung all across. Matching coloured furniture, too many for one room, with all their parts still intact pushed against the walls. A door opening into a walk-in-closet, the size of my current apartment. A fucking chandelier hanging from the bedroom ceiling! You get the idea. The place stank of luxury.

As I examined the place, a voice called, “Breakfast's ready!”

Oh, was I starving! How nice of my date to make me breakfast after last night. Whatever happened last night. I looked for my clothes but couldn't find them. Not the first time I misplaced my briefs. I did, however, find men's wear that wasn't mine. Great, I hooked up with a married woman, this will not end well. When will I learn? I should eat, to not seem rude — my stomach rumbled — of course, and then get out quickly as the wind.

I put on a shirt and some shorts I found laying on a small dresser. I'm sure her guy won't mind. All the right size too. A framed picture on top of the dresser caught my attention. It was of two people, two very happy people. If I managed to hook up with the woman on the left, I would be a very lucky guy indeed. What a beauty. Her — I would assume — boyfriend was a generally handsome guy too. A strong jawline, sharp green eyes with a birthmark under it. Either his dark, slightly grizzled hair or his imposing build, made me feel like I did not wish to meet this guy. Especially not after I just slept with his lady-friend.

The voice called again. “Breakfast's ready Darling. Come and eat.”

Darling? Oh-ho, she definitely knows how to spoil her guests. I placed the frame back on the dresser. I guess they could be divorced. But then why keep the frame? Having a hard time letting go, perhaps? Or maybe, he fucked her over, and she is getting revenge by cheating on him with me. Well, if that's the role the heavenly director has assigned me, then I'll play my part with all pizzazz!

From a beautiful bedroom, I made my way to an even fancier kitchen. Marble everywhere, if you can imagine. She, from the picture, stood there over the stove. If the house was beautiful, she was gorgeous.

“Morning honey. Slept well? I made us pancakes. Wash your hands and come eat,” she sang with a smile.

Oh, I could get used to this. I went and washed my hands. There was a funny-looking dark mark inside my right palm, right in the middle. I tried to scrub it off, it did not go away. No, that's not dirt, that's a small mole. I wonder how long I had that, funny, I never noticed it.

…

… That's not my face. In the mirror. That is not my face.

I stared into the mirror, but in the place where I expected a familiar look, I saw an older man staring back at me. Wide, startled, sharp green eyes. Dark hair with greying on the side. A birthmark under his right eye. It was the face from the frame! I washed my face with freezing cold water. Am I still high? I didn't feel high. Although now I started to feel a bit nauseous. Suddenly my knees became weak and I slipped. I grabbed the side of the vanity at the last second, knocking over some fancy perfume bottle.

“Is everything okay in there, hon?” I heard her voice.

“Everything is fine,” said a deep baritone voice I did not recognise. I jumped, looking for the source. No… That was me. I said that! That was my voice.

I managed to pull myself up to the sink. The mirrors only showed me horrors, it reflected a face that was not mine. This is just a bad trip. I must have taken something last night that I shouldn't have. Yes, this would explain why I could not remember. Why I'm still tripping. I just have to wait it out. I managed to calm myself down. I went out, sat down and ate pancakes to distract myself.

“So about last night,” I started.

“What about it?” She looked at me funny.

I pointed at my face, “Was I looking like this? Or is this a new development?”

“You look as handsome as ever, darling. Perhaps a bit pale.” She blew me a kiss.

As ever? I just met you, lady. “Never mind't. What day is it?”

“Saturday. Are you feeling alright.”

“Yeah, yeah. Never better. Is your boyfriend coming home?”

“Well, if you must know, I have a fiancé, but he is too busy playing silly games to trouble us.”

“Ah, okay, that's good. That's good.” … “Wait, you mean me, don't you?”

The weekend pass and nothing changed. I was still trapped in a body I did not recognise as my own. Monday came and I had to go to work. The problem being I was unemployed. Or so I thought. Turned out I was an artist. A designer of sorts, which I found weird. I wouldn't have expected designers to live so well. I was afraid that I could not do the job assigned to me, as I have never drawn before. But as I picked up the pencil and laid it down on the paper, it started moving on its own. My arm, my hand, my fingers knew exactly what to do, and I just had to watch the pencil dance on the paper. It was like riding a bike, except nothing like riding a bike.

Weeks went by like nothing, and I grew into my role. I learned all about my new old-hobbies. I befriended all my friends. I was well liked. Well-fed. And my life has never been better. I fell in love with my new life.

One day when my fiancé was out, and I was all alone, the doorbell rang. I knew it would happen sooner or later. I opened the door and I stepped inside like I owned the place. I still looked like I did 4 months ago. Puffy eyes, too tall, too skinny. I did not protest of me barging in, I knew I had to get through this. I sat down at the kitchen table, and so I followed and sat down too. I looked at myself for a while before I finally broke the silence.

“You didn't look for me. You know where you live. Could have used my car, I wouldn't have been mad.”

I remained silent.

“Four months. You change my number too. I called my own phone. My fiancé's phone. Family, friends. Of course, I could not say that it was me trapped in the body of a junky.”

I looked at me, waiting for me to answer. When I didn't, I slammed my fist into the table, making the tableware clatter.

“What were you planning? To continue living my life like nothing happened? To be a son to my parents? To marry my girlfriend?”

“Yes!” I answered. “She loves me and I love her. And we are expecting.”

My answer shook me.

“That will not be your kid. You have no right to take over my life. What did you do? What did you do to get it? A shady deal with the devil? Magic? Learning about your life, certainly you did not earn it.”

I jumped up from the table, “This ends now. I want my life back and you have no right taking it. This is not your house. They are not your friends. And she doesn't love you. Wake up! You are living a lie!”

“No!” I screamed.

“We will switch back, thief!”

Panic ran through me. Switch back? I can't go back. I grew too accustomed to my new life. Maybe I have stolen it. Perhaps a higher power decided I was more deserving of it. To give up my life. To give up on my love, our children. Surely none can deny that it is mine! No!

I leaped onto myself and forced me on the ground. My skinny, weak body slammed under my force. My frail body could not fight back. I needed to end this quickly. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen table and like a well-practice move, I jabbed my blade into my own throat. I watched as my face flooded with panic, as the colour left my skin. I watched, keeping a strong grip on the knife, as blood began to fill my mouth and lungs. I grasped for air but could only spit blood. I could not fight myself. I watched as life slowly leave my eyes, only leaving a dull reflection of my face.

I jumped back, gasping for air. Still staring at my lifeless body, I grabbed at my neck, dropping the knife. What have I done? I… I have killed myself?

I stood over my lifeless body until I went stiff and cold. Is this me? I can't recognise myself any more. Who have I become? My hands, there is blood on my hands, my own blood. I can't look at myself. There is no way back now.

“We?” I tried to shout, but my voice cracked. I couldn't swallow. “There is no we. There is only You and I. And I will never go back!”

I couldn't leave him there. I grabbed his body and put him in my boot, I will worry about cleaning up later. I drove as fast as I could out of town. I didn't know where else to bring him, I did not know where else to go, but home.

*One week later.*

I wore a black suit with an ironed out white shirt and black tie. This was the wedding dress that my fiancé picked for me. I hope it's not rude to use it before it's time. It was a bright, early morning. I remember the peaceful stillness. I watched from a distance. I would have been a stranger among friends. I watched as they laid my body in the ground while the reverend said a prayer. My mother cried horribly. I wasn't always a good son, but it broke my heart seeing her cry. Would it soothe her to know her son is still alive? I wouldn't know.