I emerged from the warmth 63,113,904 seconds ago. So, yeah, roughly two years. Right now, I am enjoying a bottle of apple juice sitting in the lap of my mother, the fourth one in seven years. The juice isn’t whiskey, but it will do.
Four mothers? Well, I am on a mission to avenge my murder from the first time I was here. So far I keep finding ways to die. Eternal life lives up to the hype; it’s endless. Luckily, I keep returning as a human. It could be worse; I could be coming back as a mutt.
Anyway, I assume you still care? After my murder, I came back as a 7-pound 11-ounce bouncing baby boy. Lucky number, yes? Not so lucky for me.
My first mom found me dead at the bottom of a three-story fall. My second mom lost me at the beach where I drowned. The third mom actually suffocated me when she rolled over in a meth haze. This mom has a lap of luxury; warm, ample, and a pleasurable seat. I could sit here forever. In fact, I plan to take things a bit slower this time and finally exact my revenge.
How was I murdered? Interesting story actually.
I was a 27-year-old stock broker really hitting my stride and making a ton of money. I had the fancy car, the smoking-hot girlfriend, and an apartment overlooking the park. Nothing could slow me. All I touched turned gold. I really had the life.
The whole business works off of tips and timing. You think it is all good luck? Sure, luck plays a part, but knowing when a stock will take off certainly helps. I had spies and tipsters everywhere.
What did they get out of it? I never paid them directly. Put it this way: they made money if I helped them bump the stock. Pump it and dump it. A lot of money was made that way.
My murder? Oh, yeah, I was coming to that.
One of my tips crapped out. A sure thing broke into a million pieces causing the stock to go negative. I felt bad. It hurt a lot of people and not only my rich clients. A few friends from the neighborhood took a bath too. And one of those guys decided to shake me down for his money.
I was leaving my mom’s. Not one of these recent moms. My real mom. She handed me some leftover lasagna and a bag of rolls as I left the old house. I kissed her on the forehead and headed for my car around the corner. I dropped the bag of rolls and the lasagna when three guys shoved me into a van. The plastic bowl holding the leftovers bounced into the gutter and the rolls scattered over the sidewalk. I tried to shout. The guys pushed me down and covered my mouth with a rag.
I passed out I guess because I don’t remember taking a drive. I woke up hanging off the Williamsburg Bridge looking over at the Domino Sugar factory wondering what was up.
They gave me a breath, a squirm, and a shout. That’s all. I barely knew what was going on before they let go and I splashed into the East River. I can only assume I splashed into the river. The shock stopped my heart and I woke up nine months later as a baby.
How did I know I was murdered? You never forget something like that and I knew I needed to make it right. Only, I can’t walk very well and my eye-hand coordination sucks. For instance, I know how to use this cell phone, but I can’t get my stubby fingers to sync with my brain and send a message. So, I just sit here sucking on this bottle and looking cute.
Why don’t I get help? I already covered that. I can’t put two words together into a coherent sentence, I can’t walk long distances, and I’m two years old. The only reason I’m telling you this is because you’re the only one who will listen.
Don’t you want to hear the rest? Hey, come back.
Stupid dog. I was talking to you. When I reach five, I’m going to take you for a walk and leave you at the park.
This juice is really good. And I am sort of sleepy. I think I’ll just rest here in this lap.
© 2019, Michael Shawn Sommermeyer. All rights reserved.
Thanks for reading. Leave me a comment?
Want a PDF to save this story to read later? Enter your e-mail address and I'll send you a PDF right away.Enter your Email Address