I died on March 14th, 1999. It was a Sunday and I was just two months' shy of my 49th birthday. I grew up in a small town, with normal people. Nothing 'fantastical' ever really happened to me. I was ordinary, unknown, and just part of the anonymous unwashed-masses residing in flyover-country USA. I thought I had lived a good life. I wasn't a "saint," but I wasn't "evil" either, doing what I thought evil people did; like killing, raping or robbing people. I went to church most weeks. I worked hard at a good job, took care of my family and paid my taxes on time.
I never really thought much about death, or what came after. I was busy living my life. I certainly didn't think I would die at the age of 48. I thought I had a long life ahead of me. I thought I'd live to see my grandchildren grow up and get married. All I remember was driving home one night, and the truck coming towards me crossed over into my lane. I was messing with the radio at the time so I didn't see it until it was too late, and then everything went black.
I remember seeing my body sitting there in the seat all slumped over and unnatural like. I looked like a crumpled up piece of paper. It didn't make any sense because I was seeing me, but I wasn't in me. I looked down and saw myself, but no one else could. The other driver's body was lying on the ground a bit away because he hadn't worn his seat belt. But I didn't see him outside of himself. I went over and touched myself to see if I could wake myself up, but the closer I got, the more I realized that I was dead. There wasn't any recovering from the damage my body was in, and even if I could recover, I didn't think I would like it.
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