Second verse, same as the first. This is something I wrote when I thought I saw something while driving. It's been so long, I almost don't want to edit it, but I like it in spite of its errors. Originally titled "Poe's Doppleganger".
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"Did you write The Raven?" she asks, crouching down and peering at me with her head cocked to the side and a look of distaste sitting at the corners of her mouth. I try to move my head, to shake it because what the hell?, and hit it on something. I groan and she squeaks, moving back a few inches. Blinking a few times to clear my eyes (is that water in them?) I notice she's standing in a puddle. In the street.
Where the fuck am I?
"What the hell?" I manage finally, my voice raspy, bouncing up from what I'm starting to think is a storm drain.
"I asked you if you wrote The Raven."
"Why the fuck would you ask me that?"
"Because only Edgar Allen Poe is allowed to die in a storm drain."
Edgar Allen Poe?! This freaking crazy bitch is comparing me to some old dead guy? What the hell happened last night? Where the hell am I?
All I can remember is getting kicked out of the bar and then a lot of lights. Loud lights. I can't remember anything else up until now, when I can't move and all I can see is the view up, onto the street. There aren't many cars for a... what day is it even?
"What day is it?" I croak and the girl chuckles. Bitch.
"It's Thursday."
"Thursday? You're crazy, lady. It's definitely..." I try to think, try to remember, and all that comes is the dusty sign hanging over the bartender, 'Monday: Drinks 1/2 Off.' "It's definitely Tuesday, lady."
"It's Thursday," she says with a no-nonsense glare. "You've been lying in that ditch for two days and you're starting to smell."
"Well help me the fuck up, then, if it bothers you so much." I try to move again and feel as if I'm just sliding around in my own skin. What the hell did I drink?
"I can't," she says, standing up and looking down at me. She's dressed in some of those old-fashioned clothes with all the skirts and shit and her arms are crossed over her chest. It's a nice chest and I almost don't hear her next sentence. "You've got to do it yourself, the first time."
"First time for what, woman?"
"First time getting out of your body. Well...only time, really..."
I don't think I heard her right. I can't have heard her right.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You're dead, John. You walked into a truck two days ago at 3:14 in the morning. You ended up in this ditch. No one's seen you yet, but they're going to as soon as anybody walks down here and smells you. So you need to get upand get a move on."
"How the fuck do you know my name?" I'm trying to stand up, I'm really trying and I can't do it. I just slide around some more. I can't even feel where I'm touching the street; why am I not cold?
She rolls her eyes.
"Because I'm dead too, you moron. Now get up before you're in deeper trouble then you are now."
I stop sliding and just sit there, my eyes firmly focused on the tips of her shoes.
"How," I say, deadpan. She arches an eyebrow and looks down at me again.
"Don't try to move your body. Just think get up."
It works. Stupid bitch. She steps back and lets me get used to standing there and looking at myself. I look like shit, roadkill shit. And she's right, I do smell.
"Well what now, oh wonderful psychopomp?"
"You know that word?"
"I'm an alcoholic, I'm not stupid."
"Could've fooled me. And I'm not your psychopomp. I was just walking and did the good thing."
"Well how did you die, Miss Petticoat?"
She blushes. At least, I'm pretty sure she blushes.
"I fell off a cliff." I open my mouth to laugh and she shoots me a glare brimming with hellfire. I close my mouth and settle for the biggest grin I can manage. Which is pretty big. She mutters something as she walks away that sounds a whole hell of a lot like asshole. I don't stop grinning as I jog to catch up with her.
"Where are we going?"
"We aren't going anywhere. I'm going to visit a friend of mine. You are going to find out what you're supposed to be doing with the rest of your life." She turns and points down the street. "It's that way. Follow the light," she adds sarcastically before she turns and clicks down the street.
I turn. There is a light down there, I'll be damned. Or not... Shit, I don't even know right now. I shrug and it surprises me how light I feel. I do it again before I start walking down the street. There's nobody on it. It's a veritable ghost town. Haha. Well, nobody except my body and some old dude walking down the other sidewalk, coattails flapping in some invisible breeze 'cause it sure as hell isn't windy; it's dead calm. The old dude raises a green bottle to his lips and takes a swig before he starts walking again, stumbling a little. He mutters something as I pass him. It sounds like nevermore, but he passes me before I can be sure and when I turn around to look for him, he's gone, the green bottle rolling in the street.
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