Best.Funeral.Ever.

by James Peach, Nashville, TN, USA

I'm in the mood to kill everyone in sight. It's too bad that my job requires the exact opposite of me.

I've had a record number of shooting victims on my shift tonight. I had a record number of shooting victims last night. Tomorrow night I might just set another new record by myself. I wonder if they'd count me shooting myself at the end?

If it isn't attempted murders coming through my doors, it's drug addicts. Tonight I had a lady come through that tried self-aborting. She was never pregnant. Our lab can't even figure out what drugs she's on, but that's nothing new. We're usually about a week behind when something new comes out, and something new is ALWAYS coming out. WHERE DOES ALL THIS GARBAGE COME FROM?

I should be working more on my research, but Dr. Edgar has been pissing me off lately, and quite frankly I'm tired of doing anything that benefits him, even if it's benefiting others, also. Every day that I have to be around him I have one of those headaches that you get when the anger in your soul is too much for your brain to process.

Last week a bunch of people came in with symptoms that were kind of flu-like. All of them seemed to know each other on some level, too. After speaking briefly, though, none of them wanted to talk to each other anymore. It was like they remembered that they had a secret and shut up, rather than risk letting on. I couldn't shake the thought that something was wrong with the whole scenario. At first I thought that maybe someone had messed around and put some of the Cumberland's water in their drinks, maybe they were all at the same party or something. Someone's idea of a joke, maybe. I just can't get my brain off of it, though.

It probably doesn't help that I haven't slept properly in so long that…well, in so long that I can't remember. Last night I was too tired to eat before bed, now I'm hungry and there's no time for food. Gotta save lives so people can go back out there and find some new way to almost kill themselves.

I'm tired of doing surgeries that I don't even remember because my mind was elsewhere. 4th of July is coming up. Sure, it'll bring in a crap load more patients from Riverfront, but at least it will be more interesting. It's always funny to see what new ways everyone comes up with each new year to disfigure themselves with explosives. My favorite is still The Man With One Asscheek. He was hilarious. If I were more like him I could be happier. He lost a ridiculous amount of blood that year and has to carry around a phonebook to place under himself so that when he sits down he doesn't lean. The night we fixed him up he went right back out into the streets looking for more fireworks. He loves celebrating. He has no idea what he's celebrating, but he doesn't care. He just like blowing shit up and drinking.

Best damn funeral a country's ever had.

Dying From Too Much

by James Peach, Nashville, TN, USA

I've got 12 hours to live. I've managed to do things in the last 24 that most people spend their whole lives fantasizing about. Some of them I did so that when I do die, people will say, "Herman was a good guy in the end." Other things I did because most people spend their whole lives fearing the consequences. Most of the things I did because I just don't give a fuck now. Why should I?

I've stolen.

I've killed.

I've hurt myself.

I've eaten until I threw up. Four times.

I've given homeless people thousands of dollars. That was gonna be for a new game system.

I told my moms that I love them. Susan didn't care. Nokia didn't understand why I did it. She didn't think about it very long, though, before her soundbox finished charging and she went right back to what she does best, which is getting high.

I haven't done any drugs, because if there's nothing there after you die, it just isn't smart to waste the time I have left as a high retard. Besides, I can't think of any I haven't already done.

It's not fair, but there's really no time to cry about it. Not my fault, anyways, and I can't change it. The only person that may be able to fix me wants more money than I can get in time without doing things to myself that would completely negate my will to live anyways. If it weren't my own life that was ending, I might be amused that our very own local kingpin is also the most capable doctor in the country. I admire his drive, though. I had three jobs, but this guy…….Ah fuck that. Fuck Doctor Edgar.

People are telling me that there was a time when people in the poorest parts of the world died before they hit my age because they didn't have enough. I'm dying because we have too much.

All of a sudden, dying a high retard is sounding really good.

Later on, I'll go sit at Riverfront Park to watch the fireworks. Most people in Nashville don't remember why we have fireworks this time of year. I do, but I think it's stupid. Nobody throws a parade when a beaten child grows up to beat his kids, so why shoot fireworks on the fourth?

I hope hell isn't as bad as that dramatic reenactment they did on the news last week.

The realization of the stupidity of all of the things I wanted to be when I grew up is just now hitting me. If I weren't dying, I'd go back to school. I could've had my masters by now. I don't regret the way I did things, I'm just saying.

Well, it's about time to wrap it up, I guess. I'm gonna stick this note…….Shit, I dunno where. I want someone to miss me. Maybe as my last good deed, I'll go to the hospital and die there, so I can save people the struggle of schlepping my ninety-pound body to the crematorium. Hopefully, they'll see me and say, "Thanks, man. That was considerate."

I won't even see puberty. Goddammit.