wolfpath

Day 1
close my eyes. rest in peace, they said. i cant.


Day 2
time ticks by when you’re dead. like an old fashioned pocket watch. tick… tick… tick… never ending, always beating, for as long as you’re dead. and once you’re dead, you’re dead forever.


Day 3
mad hatter and march hare came yesterday - killed the watch. no more ticking. but now, i feel strangely empty. its really quiet.


Day 4
silence – numbing silence. its more irritating than the ticking was. wonder how she is..


Day 5
too quiet… much… too… quiet. did anyone cry for me?


Day 6
a colony of maggots moved in this morning, breaking the silence. ive named one Charlie. but he’s lost among the Richards.


Day 7
part of my left eye has been gnawed off. curse the Richards. i doubt Charlie would participate in such mutiny. but on the bright side, the only pain is that damn silence. i hope she's killed herself by now, i can go see her during my night time flights.


Day 8
they’re working on my ear now. no hope for Charlie – they’ve probably killed him. had i a flag, i’d raise it in his memory… but i don’t. did you know that death is itchy?


Day 9
pfft.


Day 72
haven’t been able to write in a while – maggots are hard at work. i’ve come to respect them. its quite interesting, how they burrow their holes and gnaw away and implant their eggs in me to only create more of them to start the process over. makes one wonder about the true meaning of life – too bad im already dead.


Day 93
i wish maggots made more noise.


Day 100
i think death has done something for my sanity.


Day 121
you know, death isnt so bad once you get past the excruciating pain, the shock of finding yourself dead, the long hours in silence, and the Richards. now i only have to deal with the Samsons.


Day 147
god i hate being dead now that the little fag George has moved in. George keeps trying to eat Jimmy. im itchy….


Day 185
i want only to write on Thursdays, but i cant figure out what day it is down here.


Day 196
today, i realized that i havent been writing, as i cant move. im not even sure if the Samsons are maggots or bacteria at this point. i havent been thinking, either, considering that im pretty sure George ate my brain - bastard. and that this time frame probably isnt accurate… its pretty hard to figure out what day it is when you’re dead.


Day 200
why am i moving? ooh, i see the museum truck.


Day 450469583560939402049238457654344035946587834739358743958475454352
its official – i have no idea what day it is. the number shown above is just a guess. i figured out that ive been dead for over three hundred years, thanks to a tour guide showing the children my decrepit corpse. apparently, they’re preserving me for future generations to see or something weird like that. i miss the maggots. i miss love.


Day something or other
i was so close to being sane… so very close… but the ticking has returned. i hate the museum.


Day Q
time goes by slowly… when you’re in a museum…. i think i’ll find a way to animate myself so i can jump up and scare the crap out of those kids pressing their snotty noses to the glass case im in. kids these days….


Day some years from when I started
im out of my case! wonder if they’ll bury me again. i miss being a maggot farm. who knows, maybe the ticking will even subside once im back in the ground.


Day worse than yesterday
they’re probing me again. i thought that after day 239 i’d never have to deal with that again…. i swear i’ll find a way to jump up and dance on their autopsy table – that’ll teach ‘em.


Day horrendous
oh shit – what are they doing to me? they’re hooking up some kind of creepy machinery to me… and drawing dots on my head! i feel like im the object of some child’s artwork – like the reluctant piece of paper that screams out in agony as some drooling two year old scrapes into it with that blasted yellow crayon. Curse the crayons, curse them!


Day i give up
well, i haven’t succeeded yet in my plan to find a way to spring to life and scare the crap out of these morons. they connected a bunch of wires and other such things to my head… did George spare my brain after all?



Day ouchie
apparently, my brain is still there. its horrible… they did some weird shocky-thing, and now i can feel it again. IT HURTS TO THINK WHEN YOU’RE DEAD!!!


Day oblivion
hey… who are you? and how… no, why… are you reading my thoughts? actually, wait, dont answer that! it doesnt matter who you are because im going to blame you for all this tormenting. is that okay?


Day end
they decided to take me off the machine that reads my outstandingly well-preserved brains and pumps it unto the internet. apparently, im just too creepy of a cadaver. so, in the end, i suppose that i never got the chance to jump to life and run around the city in my decayed body screaming at the top of my lungs and chasing small children and scientists to gain ultimate revenge for being dug up in the first place… but i suppose the damage I DID inflict upon the minds of the living will suffice. hope you enjoyed rifting through my thoughts and memories, you psychos.

death days.