Journal of a Deadman: Entry 1

Journal of a Deadman: Book 1 – Judgement

By Alexander Collas

Entry 1

Today I died. Yes, died! Not the typical starting place for a journal. Normally at this point it’s more common to have the voyeurs in one’s life as they are cleaning out your effects stumble across your private musings. They will look guiltily at each other, seeking approval, as they dive eagerly into your confessions, searching for your hidden secrets and past disgraces. A playbill to provide hours, if not days, of critical review and scandalous dinner conversations for those who wished to remember fondly the parts of a life they chose to critique. The bastards!

Oh well, enough about them. Before we get into Hell and all that’s around me, let’s take care of some housekeeping. This is just the overview. I’ll fill in more later. The first logical question would be, how does a dead person, in Hell, write a journal and you get to read it?

While alive, I considered myself a writer. I arrived at my somewhat unexpected post-life destination and was met by a snarly looking old man. He didn’t stand tall and he smelled. He walked with me down the long tunnel explaining that I had been chosen. It originally sounded as if I was being rewarded. He explained that part of my eternal reward, you know the one we hear so much about, will be recording my experiences in Hell. YES, HELL… I WENT TO FUCKING HELL! Sorry, I had to get that out.

Already I didn’t like this asshole. He continued to explain that apparently a follower of “The Dark Lord” has done a deal and will get my journal entries. Yes, I am in Fucking Hell. Yes, I am destined for eternal torment, and, to make matters worse, someone else is going to get credit for my work. That’s just messed up. The world will see this as a work of fiction. No one will know there’s a real person — well, ex-real person — somewhere actually suffering and experiencing what they’re reading and giggling about.

So how am I going to write? There are no laptops in Hell. OH NO… this horrid THING is going to follow me around and extract the entries directly from my head. Yes, a little creature. It has wings and is about a foot long. I would say its most like a giant mosquito if not for its long barbed tail and mouth full of pointed teeth accented by its long nasty tongue. This creature uses its sharp appendage to extract my entries. It shoves its tongue right into my skull and literally extracts my words in a sucking action.

I can hear you ask “Does it hurt?” Fuck yes, it hurts. It’s horribly painful and leaves a small seeping wound, oozing a green puss-like substance until the wound heals in a few hours. This is how I’ll record my trip through the afterlife and my punishment in the world of the dead. It brings a whole new meaning to the regurgitations of my muse. If that isn’t enough to make you want a scone and a cup of coffee as you read on, nothing will.

So sit back and enjoy.