A Dead Man Who Held A Shovel

Misunderstanding, Fights, And The Clacking of Bone

He was on the ground, his bones chipped, and marred with blood. His face was set with a deep grimace of pain, he was aching with pain, and yet, he stared his attackers in the eyes, daring them to continue their onslaught. . .

It was like any other day: Joe walking around a nearby park after his job was done, watching people mingle together, silently judging each of them.

All was the same as it always had been, that was until Joe was jumped, knocked out, and dragged into an alleyway by a group of thugs.

In that alley, he was asked questions, questions he sure as hell didn't know the answers to.

Yet they kept nagging, going on and on, accusing him of being in a gang, threatening to break a rib or two if he didn't start talking.

He had had enough.

It was only after he stood to his feet, punched the closed guy to him, and readied himself, that he realized two things.

One: he didn't have his shovel.

Two: he shouldn't have done that.

That was how he'd found himself in this situation: on the ground, beaten, bloodied, and wishing he had his damn shovel.

Then, a thought came to him.

Now, he wasn't one for thinking about death, since he's gone through it once already, he never thought he'd find himself in that state of "living" again. The thing is, he didn't think of other ways he could die. So his current predicament got him thinking.

'Am I really going to die again!!'

At that moment, he had a revelation.

Just because you die once, and are revived, doesn't mean you can escape death a second time. And death comes swiftly who don't know they're waiting for it.

Joe never knew he was waiting, but when he thought about it, he was.

The times where he simply did whatever he wanted, as if he knew, in the end, it wouldn't matter.

When he sat alone, never tried to be kind or caring because he knew that if he made friends they would mourn his death.

Many words he said would lead someone to think he was ready to die.

It only took being knocked out and being beaten for him to realize what was right in front of him.

Death.

The seconds passed, his mind was ready, as it always has been.

. . .

. . . .

Then. . .

. . . .

. . .

Nothing, all-around him, was silent.

His hollow eyes looked around, seeing nothing: no brick wall, no angry faces, nothing.

A sound reached him, the sound of bones clicking against each other, a deep guttural growl, that filled the space, and left a ringing in his skull. A heavy footstep that shook the ground beneath him. A sudden rush of will.

Will to live.

Will to not die twice.

Will to throw the pain back at his enemies.

To make them feel the hurt, the confusion they caused him.

Out of the shadows, the jawless skull of a dragon swooped down in front of him. It's hollow eyes staring into his.

"You will not die, not yet." a voice boomed in his skull.

Joe fell back, the utter power behind those words filling him with both dread, and relief.

The dragon skeleton lifted its head back into the shadows.

Once again, he was surrounded by darkness.

"Let me take care of your problem, only then will I let you have control." the voice boomed again.

Joe hesitated: 'What am I going to lose? I'm already on the verge of death. He looked up into the shadows, seeing bright golden irises stare back. "Do what you must-"

All at once, the shadows vanished, the world came back, and in front of him, were four unconscious men.

His last thought as he left the scene was 'where is my damn shovel?'