It's a Wonderful Death

"Can't say I remember them all that well."

"Ah. I see."

It would continue like this though the entire session and that was fine by both of them. Alex Knatt knew one thing about psychiatrists, they were never in a big hurry for you to spill all the beans. They waited you out. The bigger the bill that way. What the hell, Alex's mom was paying for all this anyway. He could stand up under the interrogation for those fifty minutes a session easy. He could put off this elite of the human race for years because Alex knew he himself didn't belong to the human race or for that matter this world.

Alex Knatt had been diagnosed as clinically depressed for as long as he could remember. He had gone ten years on antidepressants and it only deepened his depression. The drugs covered the symptoms of the melancholy but could not unearth the roots. So he quit the eight-pill-a-day regimen wanting rather his mental state to match his life-philosophy which was bleak and negative.

The only thing that had ever broke his depression had been his death. Unfortunately that had only lasted three minutes, but what a gloriously happy three minutes it was for Alex Knatt. The only thing he had left of that bliss however were his fleeting dreams.

Alex had died in a car accident, a boring everyday affair that you hear about on the evening news. He couldn't even die in an exciting way. There was not much he could say about the accident. It was a wintry highway sort of thing, with the obligatory spinning, screaming and blinding blurs of slowed down time. He only really remembered one thing about it - the moment his heart stopped.

When he woke up in the hospital days later it all had to be explained to him. The explanations were unsatisfactory. They kept telling him how and why he had survived when what he really wanted to know was something more existential, something of a firmer philosophy than a throw of the dice from the hands of fate. Alex Knatt wanted to know why he was alive again - why he had to come back to this place.

At least there were the dreams. He still held some hope for them. He couldn’t remember any dreams before the accident. Now his dreams were only and ever of one thing - his own death.





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)