So this is what it feels like to be dead. Huh. I always kinda figured the place I’d end up would be warm, but I didn’t expect it to be this… mundane.

I knew that someone was coming for me. I had it on good authority, from someone I trust. Or should I say, trusted, before he got snuffed out too. I paid no heed. He knows my schedule? So what? Ain’t like I was goin to class today anyway. I guess I didn’t think about him knowing when I work. I was so sure I was safe, I didn’t even bring my spoon. I’m gettin’ old; I’m gettin’ soft.

I’ve always thought the Levis Center would be a good place to die. Poorly lit, dark bricks, sparse furnishings, and no sunlight reaches through the windows. The place breathes gloom, despair, and darkness; so naturally, this is where we bring prospective students to show off our lovely university. And that’s where he found me. Gotta hand it to him &emdash; he had the upper hand in this place. After all, my picture is on the freakin’ wall, and he could blend in with the hundreds of other strangers that pass through our doors every day.

I’m an approachable guy (or I was, before I got offed). It’s my job. So when a young guy comes up to me lookin’ like he’s got a question, I don’t think twice about it. Even when the guy has an odd look in his eye like he knows me. The recognition doesn’t come until there’s plastic spoon in my gut. I didn’t feel a thing on the first stab: only a little tickle and a feeling of confusion. Plastic spoons are weak. It took a second stab for the confusion to evolve into clarity. Clarity of my own death, and worse yet, my own defeat. After that came then numbness and finally, darkness. After that, of course, there is no feeling at all.