Since I've not done one for months, I sat down to write a Brain Shit (stream of conscious post. See here, here and here for older Brain Shits). I didn't intend for it to have any sort of narrative whatsoever. In fact, my Brain Shits usually change focus every paragraph. However, this one sort of became a short story.
As with all Brain Shits, I didn't set out to write anything in particular and had no themes or prompts in mind before I started writing. Obviously, I had a certain song in the back of my mind, as you'll no doubt guess when you read it. This is mostly unedited, only spelling and major grammatical mistakes have been changed. Please enjoy:
Last night a DJ saved my life. He performed CPR on me after I had a cardiac arrest. I wasn’t aware that DJs were trained to deal with emergencies such as these, so I thanked the chap and went about my business.
I felt great. This was a second chance at life that I thought I’d never get. I decided to screw it up in a completely different way this time.
Feeling rejuvenated, I decided to start my life right from the beginning. Mum wasn’t too keen on the idea, so I had to skip the birthing part and skip straight to being a toddler. I had to pay a woman to wheel me around in a pushchair as I pretended that I couldn’t walk. I had an argument with a bus driver when he wanted me to pay an adult’s fair. Didn’t he realise that I was only just starting my second life? Not like on that computer game, for real! I called him a “poo poo head” and I paid the full price, grudgingly.
Trouble started when I hit my teens. I tried to hook up with my school sweetheart, but now she had two kids and a mortgage. When I went round and invited her to the prom again, her husband kicked me to the ground, even though I promised to have her back before 9. What a selfish prick.
I realised that I wasn’t getting any acne, so I went to Greggs, bought a palette of their sausage rolls, and rubbed them all over my face. The grease felt wonderful as it soaked into my pores, but the burning sensation didn’t feel too great. In fact, I lost several layers of skin. Luckily, the DJ who had saved my life the other day saw what happened and phoned for an ambulance. I honestly think I would have died if it wasn’t for his talented scratching finger that was able to quickly dial 999 on his phone.
This being the second time that a DJ saved my life, I decided to start life number 3 from the beginning. Perhaps this time I might make it past my teenage years.
Unfortunately not. Being a child in your own flat that you purchased when you were 25 in your previous life is a dangerous world. There are lots of corners to bang your head on. I’d also failed to cover the plug sockets with child safety protectors in my last life. In my new life, I didn’t understand electricity, so I stuck my tongue in there and licked up 240 volts. If it wasn’t for the fact that a DJ in my building heard my screams and saved my life once again, I might be dead right now.
You’d think after three near deaths I’d have learned my lesson, but no. I managed to nearly kill myself another three times, once by drinking bleach when playing tea party with my teddies, once by letting a cat sleep on my face, and once by aborting myself before I had a chance to be born. Those pro-life people have a point, abortion really stings!
On my seventh life I decided to do things right. I went to school, got an education, got a job as a neurosurgeon, married a wonderful woman, had three great kids, and lived happily ever after. That was, until I saw a DJ losing his life. He was in the middle of playing a banging set, when he suddenly collapsed. There was a pain in his left arm and his chest hurt.
Something about this rang a bell. I knew what to do, somewhere in the back of mind, but I just couldn’t recall it. Perhaps I’d seen a similar situation in a past life. I decided to visit a hypnotist to recall my past lives. It turns out I was right, I had a heart attack and was saved by a DJ that gave me CPR. The very same DJ who was dying. By the time I had rushed back to the scene from the hypnotist’s office (after stopping for a light snack at Big Al’s Massive Meal Barn), he had already passed away. I feel bad that I wasn’t able to repay the favour.
I went to the funeral. No one knew how to play any music (he was the only DJ in our town), so we buried him in silence. Well, except for me who listened to Jamiroquai’s Deeper Underground on my iPod. It’s what he would have wanted.
Although, I’m now hearing spooky noises around my house. Someone keeps letting a record skip occasionally, and I’ve seen a white figure on our landing complaining about bass levels. I think I’m being haunted by a DJ. Send help!
I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now I'm off for a lobotomy to see if I can make them stop. See ya!