I was running; running away from the police.

I had a rough life. My family was very poor and living on the streets of Chicago. My father left my mother when I was only an infant, never being able to care for me. My mother has been working full time as a maid, leaving me alone almost all of the time. I had to fend for myself. I needed money to support my mother and myself. I could not let her down. I was stealing an old ladies purse when the cops were called. I was sprinting away as fast as my little legs could possibly take me. I was huffing, puffing, and heck; I was nearly blowing a house down. I knew the police would not understand, I did not desire to steal the old woman’s purse, but I had no choice. With out a slight amount of money, we would have to sell the box we were currently living in so we could purchase food. I strived to not resort to doing crime, starting with signs saying, “Will work for food”, but very unfortunately escalating to crime. I have done so much wrong that if I were to be caught I should have at least twenty-five years in prison. I had almost escaped the police, when my feet left the ground. I stared downward and saw that I was falling into a canyon with a river on the bottom. I panicked. My limbs were flopping around like wildly and I felt they might fracture. I smacked the ground and immediately my entire world went black. I was pronounced dead three hours later in the hospital.

I woke up in the hospital, surrounded by doctors, just after they made the call. There was an immediate frenzy. How was it that I came back to life? This could not be possible! My doctors came upon a peculiar realization. My heart monitor was still flat lining! How could I be alive with my heart not beating? I thought I must have been dreaming or in a strange state of hallucination. I should have been in immediate pain, as the doctors did not prescribe me any pain relievers, but I felt nothing; nothing at all. I told them that I felt fine so they cleared me to leave. I got out onto the street and took a breath of fresh air when I realized that I had not been delusional after all, my heart was not beating. I began to panic, but that only made me notice that absence of my heart even more. What was it that was keeping me alive? I needed somebody to talk to, so I went to the only person whom I could freely trust; my best friend since the first grade, Jimmy Smith. Jimmy was a few months older than I was, and was the greatest friend a boy could every have. I walked up to his house and rang the doorbell. His mother answered. “Hi, are you here to see Jimmy”? I told her that I was and went inside his house. Jimmy lived in an old and sinister house, with twists and turns around every corner. I went straight up to his room, not taking my time in the slightest. I was relieved to see his familiar face. I explained my entire account to him, beginning with dashing away from the cops, to falling of the cliff, to discovering my heart was not beating. He listened patiently, not disturbing me. When I finish my story, Jimmy sighs and says to me, “Of course your heart is not beating; your heart doesn’t beat after you die”!