Needs Title Badly

A story about an ordinary man who ate an unordinary sandwich.


1. Chapter 1

I came back from the grave with a sandwich in my hand. Not the kind that you burn and forget; the kind that you eat and forget. You know, the ones filled with cheese or tuna (that some fallen-during-birth idiots ruin with mustard or hummus). But that's beside the point, 'cause the important thing is the bread. You can either get white delicious bread, or vomit inducing full grain bread. Now you are probably asking: "Why's bread so important?" And to that I say: "Shoosh don't interrupt those who are superior. No seriously, shut up."

If you wouldn't have interrupted me so rudely I would have told you that the type of bread determines which of the super (useless) powers you get. Either you get the Unlucky 99 (full grain) or the Coma Cycle (white bread). The Coma Cycle makes you immortal, but there's a catch (who could've guessed it?) every time they're about to die or even get scratched the Cyclers (very original name) enter a coma. Higher risk of death means a longer coma. As you might've guessed (If you don't like mustard and hummus in your sandwiches) old people or the terminally ill enter an infinite coma cycle (as the name suggests). Each time they wake up, their body enters a coma. While you can't be harmed during the coma, there's still no cure to oldness (and the side effects, am I right? I SAID THE SIDE EFFECTS YOU OLD BAG OF BONES! Yes I know you didn't have your hearing device on grandma. Whew old people…)

The other super (useless) power is like cheating at a card game if you wanted to lose all of your money. Each action that you decide (that's a key word. You might want to remember that one) to perform you fail (miserably). That is until you reach your 100th action which will succeed no matter what. After many deaths and one failing lord of the universe, they have decided to stop handing out full grain sandwiches (also because they're gross).

Yet somehow by some unlucky accident I got to vomit after resurrecting for the first and last time of my life. It should've been a wonderful moment where I reunite with my grieving family, but instead I got to vomit in the toilet for half an hour while my mom kept asking me "Are you alright Mop?" (Yes you have read it correctly, my name is indeed… Mop. I hate young people with important decisions to make.) For better and for (99%) worse I was, from that point onwards, a 99er.

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