Message from the morgue

"Son, drive safe," said my mom when I got on my bike today morning.  I ignored her. I just started my bike and raced down the road. I had my headphones on which was playing heavy jazz music. I was always proud of my riding skills, I have never had an accident. I was racing down the road that was very familiar to me. I saw that truck coming the other way. I hit the brakes but my bike did not slow down, I panicked,  went straight and hit the truck. 

I am now in this room with many others.  There is a board outside which says 'Mortuary'. It is dark here. I can hear my father cry in the corridor.  He had big dreams for me. He wanted me to manage the business that he had painfully built but all that is over now. My mother will never forgive herself for buying me the bike. She is the one who convinced my father about buying me that bike. I don't think she could handle the pain. My sister, she admired me. I was her big brother. She will be crying now. My friends will miss me. I wish I could tell them how painful death is. I wish I could tell them to drive carefully.

I hear footsteps, someone is coming. They are coming with a scalpel and other instruments to tear me apart. I probably won't feel any pain because I am already dead but the pain that I leave behind with my loved ones is unimaginable.
(In memory of a friend who died in a bike accident recently)

© Josbin Itty