Dead Man Talking

Choti Mata's Notes : Choti Mata writes fiction. Quite often, it is weird and unpublishable. But God made blog and we never even bothered thanking Him for it. Anyway, here is a story...straight from the graveyard!


“ I have been coming here every day for past 5 years. Every single day, I wonder if the mankind will ever realize the futility of it all. That no matter what they do and how they do it, they are always going to end up here.”

“You do realize that visiting a graveyard everyday is not exactly healthy.”

“Nor is carrying a corpse on my shoulder after I have personally ensured that it is a corpse. Not to mention the instances when the corpse also talks. You don’t seem to mind any of that.”

“I don’t mind any of it. I am a corpse. Not minding things is kind of my job description. I was just trying to be friendly.”

“Yes, of course. Because what I really need in life is to be friends with a corpse.”

“Look man, I was alive once. And that once was only a couple of hours ago. I haven’t gotten rid of all my humanity. Not yet. Also, I don’t like being referred to as a corpse. It is a little insulting.”

“Right. Did you stop to consider that you would not need ‘referring’ if you would just stop talking and behave like a reasonable corpse…erm…dead body. It will save us both a lot of trouble. Why are you talking anyway? I have never had a dead body on my shoulder that wanted to chat. It is a little weird.”

“I don’t know, man. I am here. I was bored. I thought I may as well talk.”

“Okay. But you are talking to me. Am I not supposed to have a say in whether or not I want to have this conversation?”

“Did you consider the fact that I might have a say in whether or not I should die?”

“Okay. Fair point. So, you are here. What is that supposed to mean? Are you actually dead?”

“I should be dead. I don’t think my not being dead is a possibility. I am pretty sure humans are not designed to survive with adjustable heads that dangle away from their shoulders.”

“Right. So, if you are dead, then how are you talking? Are you a ghost? A zombie?”

“How am I supposed to know? I have been dead only for a few hours. I am still learning. May be I am stuck between the planes. May be there is some sort of a waiting line for the dead. All I know is that I am still here. Nobody up there seems to be interested in changing that at the moment. As for everything else, you can’t expect me to answer the humanity’s most perplexing question. Not so soon anyway.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, given your current predicament, you are remarkably calm. Not spooked. Not even a little rattled.”

“You mean…with you on my shoulder and all this talk?”

“Yes.”

“Every fortnight or so, I zero in on a potential victim, hack him or her into pieces and bury them in this graveyard. A corpse…err…body that refuses to shut up barely makes it to the list of top ten most horrifying things that I have seen…or done in my life.”

“Okay. I get it. You are not scared of horror movies. Because you create them. So, what are your influences? Jack the Ripper? Freddy Krueger? Hannibal?”

“I think you have watched too many movies.”

“Do you have a code? Like you kill only those who have it coming? Wait…that theory makes me the bad guy. That can’t be right.”

“As I said, you have way too much TV. This is real life. And you are really dead. This is not how things work. Besides, even if I did have a code…after staying awake for fifteen days straight, it would go for a toss. I kill, so that I can sleep.”

“So, you sleep only once every month? Just one night in a month?”

“Technically, I sleep for twenty four hours. But yes, only once.”

“That is…very disturbing.”

“Told you.”

“On second thoughts, it makes you some kind of a hero. Forgoing sleep for fifteen days when you can kill one every other day and have a nice sleep.”

“I think you are underestimating the enormity of the issues involved in killing another human. Also, you really need to work on your definition of a ‘hero’.”

“Whatever man. I think you exercise a lot of restraint. But, why murder? You can slaughter animals or something. That would spill enough blood to give you some shut eye.”

“Yeah. Maybe. But it is a poor substitute. Like a nicotine patch. It might work…but it will need will power. Besides, if you really want some sort of a super complicated psychobabble, then well…I think all human life is a burden. And I am happy to relieve some miserable suckers of it whenever I can.”

“My life wasn’t a burden.”

“You were a homeless junkie who was a step away from carving out your own kidney for the next hit.”

“Yeah…well, point taken. And on that note, do you think marijuana works for the dead? Because I think I am still high.”

“You sound high.”

“Anyway, so you think life sucks and then we die. And you are happy to speed up the process.”

“Yes, pretty much.”

“Why don’t you relieve yourself of that burden then? Why others?”

“Because suicide is for cowards.”

“As opposed to murder being…for brave-hearts?”

“You are still underestimating the challenges involved in a good, discreet murder.”

“You enjoy it.”

“I do. It doesn’t mean it is easy.”

“I can imagine. I think we have arrived. Whoa! Is that a grave? You had already dug a grave?”

“My shrink had said that I have OCD before I smothered her with a pillow on her own couch. My most satisfying kill ever. But, I think she had a point.”

“I think she did. That grave is very well done. Very meticulous. It is a shame that it is not empty.”

“Not empty?”

“Yes, it is not empty. No room for me. Sorry.”

“What are you even….Damn it! That grave is not empty!”

“Exactly what I said.”

“But it should be. I dug it up this morning. Whose body…Oh God! That body…that is…me!”

“Yes. You!”

“How is it…what the hell is happening?”

“Nothing is happening. It is just a little return gift. From me. A memorable good bye. No suicide. But , all the benefits. I hope you like it!”