Nine

I lay there and pretended that I was dead.

What would they do with my body, I wondered.

Would they believe I was dead? Call my bluff?

Mourn? Celebrate? Ignore me entirely? Continue living their lives?

It was nice, being dead. No one needed me.

No one after me. Nothing to do. No responsibilities.

It turned out I didn’t mind it, being dead.

Having died. What killed me, I thought? Something soft.

Nothing violent. I was fine. Everything is fine, now.