Just Shoot Me! (A Conversation between Life and Death)

Carol Schiraldi

I'm dying. I mean, sure it doesn't look like I'm dying and, certainly, you might not think that I'm dying and I'm not dying right away, I mean not right this moment anyway, but I am dying. We're all dying. "Dying since the day they were born," can maybe best describe it. Each and every day, each and every breath brings us one step closer to our last. In the history of all of the world, nobody has ever gotten any younger and nobody, not one single one of us, has gotten out alive. (Well, unless you count Elvis and the jury's still out on him really. I mean, some say he's dead and others? They keep spotting him in 7-11's all over the place, sure, but do we really know for certain he isn't dead by now? I mean, like, hasn't that milk passed it's expiration date already too?)

Sure, I might look like I'm over here celebrating-dancing in the street in fact-but the cold hard truth is that, while I may be doing all that, while I look like I'm all happy, out dancing, and having a party in the middle of the street, I'm also quietly dying. Is this my last breath? No? Maybe this one? Brace yourself, it's bound to come sooner or later. Someday, that last gasp of air, why it will have your name on it too, I promise. Yup. That's me. Little Miss Dying Since the Day I was Born.

What? Like you were expecting a birthday cake and a smiley face? Please! Give me a break.

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