A strange stillness permeates the morning. As once more I transit from the dead. Another day, another dollar as they say. Today looks as if I may not even be on track to make that. I wake up in the doorway of a swanky shoe shop in the heart of the city. All marble, glass and leather. I’m feeling cold and wet. The cardboard I have been sleeping. That I have been wrapped in has somehow got wet in the night. The strong wind that is still blowing must have brought rain into my doorway.
I have no idea when or how this curse will end. Each night when I go to sleep I die. At least that’s how it feels. A day or so as someone else and then I sleep. To me they die, I have though made them die. Countless times I’ve killed them. If you can think of a way to commit suicide then I have done it to these poor unfortunates whose bodies I inhabit. Some I’ve felt quite guilty about. Some not, the life they lived someone should have done it sooner. You see it was by way of an experiment. I wanted to see if I woke after doing the dreadful deed, I did. I always do, if I die or fall asleep as one person then I wake as another.
I am getting tired of it. There was a time when it didn’t happen, I can’t really remember the person I was then. The person before I began to wake as someone else every single day. Today might be my last, who knows. For now this guy needs a break, could I make his day better somehow. I’m feeling charitable, what can I do for him?
I guess nothing except find him a large bottle of Vodka. That won’t be easy looking and smelling like he does. Begging might be the answer, maybe that’s how he survives from day-to-day. I think of a way, I’ve been round here before. That happens I usually awake in the same part of the planet that I died in. I have travelled, on boats, planes and trains. Somehow though I end up back in this part of the world. It has its advantages, you know where places are. How to get in them, where to find the stuff you need.
The strange thing is I never see them again. The people who I’ve been. I don’t know why, it just doesn’t happen. I’ve been to their funerals on those occasions that I have killed them. That’s always a little weird going to the funeral you caused to a former you, now as someone else.
Anyhow back to business, I know a house where the owner will be out. There’s always booze and food and for some reason they never lock the door. He’ll raise a few eyebrows if anyone sees him going in. I’ll have to be quick getting in. That will be easier said than done with this chap. His health is terrible, it’s a wonder he’s still alive. He must only be thirty or forty and can hardly walk.
We’re in, it’s not a brilliant apartment but better I think than what he’s used to. Yesterday’s pizza in the fridge, an unopened litre bottle of Vodka and some orange juice. The young fella deserves this, at least I think he does. It’s been a while since I’ve had Vodka, I don’t really like the stuff. It doesn’t matter though, I guess soon we’ll both be passing out. What’s that in his bag, a gun. What’s he doing with a gun and now the owner of the flat is coming home. This is crazy I can’t stop him I think he’s going to kill the guy. I know that guy who lives here, I knew I’d been here before. I have, it’s me. How long is it since I was here. How many times did I die and come back next day. I guess not this time, this drunken bum with my bottle of Vodka in one hand and a handgun in the other will see to that. He takes aim, he shoots. I guess this time there will be no transit from the dead back to life as someone else. I’ll soon find out I guess.