Not Dead Yet-Introduction

My name is Jake, and I’m dead.

It would be great to say that my death was very interesting.  Ideally I could tell you that I was killed because of some nasty love triangle involving the Mafia and a high profile politician. That I had been fed poison, stabbed, and thrown off a roof for good measure.  There would have been a media frenzy surrounding my death, and candlelight vigils would be held until the culprit had been held accountable.  Finally, when the dust had settled, my painstakingly made up corpse would be lowered into the ground, (perhaps with a memorial wreath beside the grave where a perfect picture of me smiling would stand) and maybe someone would throw themselves on the casket too.  Wailing about how life would hold no meaning and that I was taken far too soon.  And of course in a perfect world, this would have all occurred on a dark and stormy night. God, that would have been fantastic

Sadly none of these things happened to me.  My real life death?  Let me replay that back for you real quick.

It was a regular spring morning.  It was getting a little warm, but that’s Albuquerque for you.  Being smack dab in the middle of New Mexico typically means short springs and long hot summers.  I remember the grass was still springy in the park, and while most of the wild flowers had gone, succumbing to the recent heat, plenty of yellow ones still remained.  I actually kind of hated the yellow flowers, they reminded me of the pollen that would make my car look dirty for many, many months.
But that morning I didn’t hate them.  I‘m not saying loved them, but I didn’t hate them.  I was pretty much only focused on breathing.  There was a lot of that going on.  You see I had just recently decided I should jog a little.  My weight was starting to get to me and I was still in that first flush of thinking a couple morning jogs in the park would be fun.

I decided that morning, stupidly, I could handle jogging off the trail.  That off-path jogging quickly turned into a walk as soon as my calves felt a very strong burning sensation.  But by that time I started to notice my surroundings and the forest was starting to look pretty. I felt like taking it easy for the rest of the morning before I headed back.  Clearly my dedication to exercise was going the way of the calligraphy pens, the painting, and of course the previous exercise kick I had tried before.
After I was far enough off the trail, fate decided to be fickle, and a bee came at me.

You have to know that I can’t stand bees.  Really anything that can sting me, I don’t like.  I never understood why I was so irrational about them.  I’m not allergic, and have only been stung twice in my life and don’t remember it being all that terrible and painful.  But I suppose that is why the word irrational is stuck in there.

I was no longer in control of myself,  I swatted at the air, and I’m pretty sure I may have yelled in surprise,  then I took a step backwards.  Had I done what I normally would do- just freeze up and stand still- I would have lived long enough for food to kill me like any good American.  That fateful step back, though, spelled the end for Jake Koss.

I stepped onto a really big stick.  Not large enough to even be called a log, but a thick sturdy stick about the size of a forearm.  This stick decided it would roll out from under me and down I went.  I hit my head hard on the ground and blacked out.  Leaves stuck to my buzzed brown hair like bits of fabric on velcro.  And guess what?  That freaking bee stung me.  I guess those fears weren’t so irrational now, huh?

Some cute guy about a day later discovered my body while hiking.  He was kind enough to call an ambulance though really it was far too late. I learned later while I hovered (because that is what ghost’s do ,right?) by the coroner, that I had  suffered a pretty bad concussion, and that blood had pooled in my brain.  The death was pretty painless, I don’t remember feeling more than the initial feeling of my head meeting stony ground and of course that sting.  Stupid bee.

My funeral was quick and short: Mom cried and so did Dad surprisingly. A few sniffles and only one friend said a couple words about me before they threw the dirt over my coffin.  The turn out was lukewarm, overall.  I guess I had touched less people than I may have thought.  Oh well, I had been a pretty good person so I didn’t feel terrible about more people not showing up.  I was actually pretty much at peace with the whole situation.

And that was when I finally saw the light.  Four days of wandering around, watching my body and family, and the stupid light finally showed up.  So I did what any good soul would do.  I walked into it.

That would be the dumbest decision I had ever made.  Because here, my story really starts.