Autopsy

10:47 am: I lay there, my body cold as it lay on the metal table which I hated so much.

He hovered above me, the knife he held, slowly moved down to my skin. I tried to scream, but my screams went unheard. The screams of a young boy who just wanted to go home. I kept yelling as the knife went down what would become the railroad from the top of my chest and down my stomach. “Stop,” I cried out with a voice full of pain, “Please! You’re hurting me!” The man shivered, looking around before shrugging and going back to cutting me. I lay, crying, I didn’t want this. Well, at least I didn’t anymore. I may have wanted it a couple hours ago, but I now wish I had not made this choice. I tried to look up, but I couldn’t, my body was stuck. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t move, nor could I be heard. I sniffled, my throat felt tense. I wanted to cry out more, but I knew he would continue this torture. He started to whistle, and I started to sob, well at least in my head. The whistling rang through my ears. Before I knew it, I was hearing a familiar tune playing in my head. “Why are you doing this to me,” I exploded, “why are you causing me such agony?!” Once again, no response. I gave up. There was no point in asking, he wouldn’t answer. There was no point in screaming, no one would save me.

I was trapped in this place that, I considered hell. I tried to cheer myself up, telling myself it wasn’t school or that I wasn’t at home doing chores. But I would honestly rather have been doing either of those things. All the sudden, he begins humming.

“Name: Nolan Felix Jacobson. Age: 17. Height: 6’7. Weight: 149.8 lbs,” the man started. He was listing off characteristics of me. “Time of death, 9:36 am,” he said slowly with a deep sigh.

I had wished would end.

I ended up getting my wish.

11:02: The man had finished his work, he closed up the open skin on my body. It hurt, but not as bad as being cut open and having my organs rummaged through like a garage sale. He left for a moment, soon coming back with my father, mother, sisters, and my brother. “Can I see him,” she asked with tears in her eyes. The man nodded, my mother's eyes had scanned my body. She was pale, but not like I am. She looks like she has something to say, but her mouth just quivers. “N-Nolan…,” she whimpered “why… why did you leave us!” Her voice was cracked, she couldn’t complete some words. My father stood, not saying a word. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he had opted not to speak. My mother collapsed, and she started screaming, I remember those screams, they continue to torture me. I wanted to hug her, and I wonder how, but I somehow stood up. I wrapped my arms around her, whispering in her ear: “I love you." She sniffled and looked up, I could tell she is looking for me. “Nolan…,” she whispers as she looks for me. Eventually she starts screaming my name. They came in and injected her with a liquid I could not identify, while I stood there in horror as they put her in a gurney, strapped her in, and wheeled her away. The screams she forced from her mouth were horrific, blood-curdling screams. The man told my father, sister, and brother they should left then. My father had nodded in agreement, scooping up my brother and guiding my sister out with his open arm. My sister was about to start to cry.

11:15 I realized what had happened to me. I died. I was a cold, dead, rotting corpse. I was nothing now. I wasn’t been able to move, because my soul was still part of my body. Before I died, I had been bullied, picked on, ridiculed. The torture I suffered through daily was too much to bare, so I stopped it. The ending of my story was unexpected, and stunning. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. My parents had gotten money from my life insurance policy, my brother and sister got my things, and my teachers had one less paper to grade; one less person to fail each year. The pain was no longer there. I was finally free, I was home. Where I belonged from the start. I wasn’t in the true hell that life was, I was in the end. Then the light came. I was gone.

11:17: She smiled, and I was confused, so I had asked what was going on. My words came out as whimpers and quiet cries. The lady shushed me, telling me that mommy was here. I looked around confused. Was this a new start? “Ma’am,” one of the men said, “what would you like to name him?” She smiled, “Nolan Samuel.”

I heard a nurse talking.

"Time of birth, 11:17 A.M."