by Sarah Kobrinsky
Dead Man slows his heart to a trace of a hint of a beat. Dead Man loves to laugh and look at himself above his almost dead body. He loves to fool the nurses and grab their full-blown asses after faking yet another flatline. It scares the shit out of them every time, then he smiles his cheeky smile while his family, shuffling awkwardly in the corner, apologizes once more to all the doctors, the porters, the care workers, and the nurses.
Give an old guy a break, Dead Man thinks as he examines his carefully portioned foodstuffs. I am dead, he grins and digs into the jello that will only keep him alive a few more days, maybe hours, but Dead Man eagerly eats in hope of playing his game one more time. He watches the clock tick over slowly. Dead Man wonders what will come first: another minute or his last, most victorious heartbeat?
Dead Man waits for the next shift to begin, waits patiently as patients do, for another team of girls to tease, for another chance to expose himself. Dead Man imagines leaving his body for the final time while that sweet nurse over there rides him like he’s never been ridden before. Who knew kicking the bucket could be such fun? He slows his heart down to a trace of a hint of a beat.