You get home from work to the smell of bacon and eggs. Walking inside, your wife is just pulling the pan off the stovetop.
“I made breakfast for dinner!” she laughs with a smile.
She flips the omelet onto a plate and sets it in front of you. The aroma is tantalizing. You dig in to the food ravenously.
“So how was work today?”
“Made the best sale of my career!” you boast in between bites.
“That’s fantastic, honey!”
She kisses you on the cheek and goes back to the stove to start cooking her own meal. You continue to inhale your food. You feel like you haven’t eaten in days.
“And how was your day, dear?”
“Oh, you know, the usual,” your wife remarks. “Walked the dog, took care of Jacob. He’s taking a nap now. But I did read a very interesting article in the newspaper today.”
“Yeah? What about?” you inquire only half listening, as you are still engrossed in your meal.
“Now, bear with me, it’s a bit morbid. It was about when a person dies.
Some tests they did showed that before someone passes, their brain releases a bunch of chemicals that they say could let that person live out a full life just in their mind!
They say that’s where that whole myth of ‘your life flashing before your eyes’ comes from. Isn’t that just fascinating?”
Hungry as you are, you stop eating. You’ve known your wife for years, since you were both in grade school.
She hated that kind of stuff, wouldn’t even learn about what happens after death in biology classes, and would much less find enjoyment in it now.
You look up toward your wife just in time to see the frying pan coming at your face. It strikes your cheek with full force, shattering your cheek bone and dislocating your jaw.
Fresh off the hot stove, you feel a burn where it struck you, and that begins to spread across more of your body. Blood pours from your face to your hands.
You try to question why, but your face is too busted up to make a sound while your wife pulls a tazer out of the junk drawer.
She presses it to your chest and activates it as everything fades to black.
You suddenly come back to in a haze. You’re not in your house anymore. A gruff voice speaks to you.
“Mornin’, buddy. Welcome back. We thought we lost you,” the man says relieved as you see him put away a defibrillator.
Your hands won’t budge. They’re strapped down. You try to speak, but you’re still in too much pain. The area you’re in is dingy and dark. Not a hospital.
“You better stop doin’ that. It’s the third time this week,” he says cheerfully as he pulls a pair of bloody pliers out of an open flame, “and we ain’t even close to bein’ done with you.”