James' Death

He knew death. He had seen so much of it. He grew up with it. It was part of what he was, part of his creation.

He knew the stages of dying. He knew the difference between the moment breathing stopped, and the moment the brain turned off. He knew it so well. He could tell when it happened.

He knew the unmistakable pallor of a fresh corpse. It was ghostlike. He knew it. He'd seen it.

He knew the way the eyeballs flattened out about five minutes after death. He'd seen it first hand, so many times.

He knew little details that most people didn't know about death. He knew that five minutes after you die your eyes go flat and filmy grey. Then your body starts to shrink. You get smaller. He knew these things. He knew them well.

But now, as he lay on the cold stone floor, his own blood flowing from his body onto the ground around him, he was experiencing it first hand. He was experiencing death.

He'd seen it. He knew it. But he never knew it was like this. It was so different to what he imagined. He could feel his breathing getting shallower. His muscles starting to cramp as they begged for oxygen. His body going cold as his brain ordered all the blood to his main organs. His liver, his lungs, his heart.

He tried to breathe, but his lungs were having none of it. He spluttered and coughed, blood splattering over his face. He couldn't breath. Couldn't think. Couldn't move.


Based on the novel by L.J.Smith. Hope you like it. Any ideas? Thoughts? Critism?