Is Mason dead or is he simply in a state of suspended animation?
Involuntary functions like heartbeat, breathing, some electrical brain activity and sometimes a discernable pulse still seem to be working, but why are these life processes so slow?
If he tries really hard he can remember his relationship with the wonderful Sophie. But what happened to her? Did she double cross him? Has he gone mad?
Or is he just dead?


1. First part of my short story



Mason thought he was dead. Even with his eyes half open, he could see nothing.  And he couldn't hear anything either. So perhaps he had died, he thought. And this is what death was like. No sound, no sight, and nothing to see or hear.

But then he realised that he was thinking. And he could remember a few things. Vaguely at first, but if he concentrated, certain of them became slightly more tangible. 

    Like taking his clothes off. And lying down next to her. 



He’d met her in a bar. Just like it happened in the movies. She was on a stool at a high table sipping a cocktail. He noticed her legs first. 

    ‘Perhaps,’ he said to himself as he went over to her. But ‘Hi,’ was all he could out.

    She smiled. ‘Well, if that’s your opening gambit, I can match it. So, Hi.’ She touched his hand. ‘This may seem forward and unladylike,’ she added, ‘but I’d like to buy you a drink.’

    Mason spent the night in her appartment. And the next. And the one after that.

    He’d never known such extacy. Some of it was routine. Some of it out of the ordinary. Some things he’d never done before. Or had done to him. And there was the constant, drumming excitement and anticipation of just little bit of pain. 

    But remembering the details had become difficult. 



Mason felt himself falling. He was tumbling down from a high window. His body drawn by gravity towards a form lying in foetal position far below him. He saw it was her. Long legs and naturally blond hair.  As he got closer she looked at him. She was naked. Then she turned onto her back and opened her arms.She was waiting for him.

    When he was next to her he felt the texture of her wonderful skin. It was like warm marble. And he could smell the colour of love.

    Then sound of the mattress moving. The rousing fragrence of her body odours. Faint at first, but becoming more and more obvious. 

    At last he was inside her. And the pleasure was overwhelming. He heard the soft purring sound again. It came from deep inside her throat. As loud, he thought, as he'd ever heard it, so many times before. Sweat trickled off his chest onto her breasts. A tiny spark of electricity ignited as his lips brushed against her hair.


    He felt the pressure rising, As if a storm was about to break. A powerful, warm sensation was building up deep inside of him. Energy waiting to be released. An ecstatic, rushing sensation. A draining eruption of vitality. And then a slow ebbing away of all feeling and  energy. 

He was back in the darkness. Where even with his eyes half open he could see nothing.

    And then sleep. Long, dark and depressing.


Please go to the second part of my short story: 2

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