Jackson Willard awoke to find himself in a hot, cramped and very dark space. At first he struggled to try and get up but he was kept from doing so as if his head was hitting the roof. His thought process seemed slow, his speech was impaired. All he could manage was a slight grunting sound, the words that he wanted to say were clear in his mind yet he couldn’t mange to form them with his mouth. Hours passed, his struggle remained until finally the ceiling collapsed and the dirt poured in.
The struggle continued Jackson managed to swim and crawl through the dirt and grit that now seemed to bar his way of freedom. Again though it took hours and his strength continued to drain. On his seemingly endless journey he took several breaks. During his brief halts he continued to have the same visionary relapse on life. He remembered walking to work. It was a Monday. It was not unlike all the others before he was eating an onion bagel with cream cheese. Suddenly a car spun out of control making him a target. He remembered the breaking of glass, the squeal of tires, bones breaking and pain like he had never felt before. This was the last thing he remembered, after that it was an endless darkness. Jackson revisited this memory a few times on his way to the surface and finally he reached sunlight.
Jackson was spewed forth from the ground like a newborn calf. He took in deep rapid breathes. He was dazed yet not to such an extent that he didn’t notice the thousands of tombstones scattered about. His immediate reaction was “I cannot be dead. I have a family.” Yet as he spun around in a slow circle he saw a stone not more than three feet from the hole of which he came. “JACKSON B. WILLARD, Loving father, Devoted Husband, May He Rest in Peace.”
The uncertainty became all too clear. He was in a horrible accident. He did not survive. But how? How was he awake and walking now?
Before much more thought could be registered. An urge to eat, not just eat, but to gorge himself on anything he could get his hands on. He tried to run, but couldn’t. He hobbled instead, as fast as he could manage. He turned onto a seemingly empty street. No people were out and about, several houses had burned down. Cars were abandoned, trash and debris were scattered all over the place. It seemed as if the world had come to an abrupt end. No people were about, but in the very obscure distance Jackson could hear the barely audible grunts of his apparent kind. He could not distinguish what this could mean and really he didn’t care he only wanted food, and a lot of it.
As he made his way down the street he came to a now abandoned house. He heard the unmistakable yelping and whining of several dogs coming from a shed in the back. Apparently the previous owners had established a well maintained kennel. The thought of eating dogs never crossed his mind. Jackson hobbled as fast as he could and broke through the door. Inside he found Pomeranian’s, Shih Tzu and terriers aplenty. They were still caged and the outcome was oh so simple. He feasted on the raw, still alive flesh. He gorged for hours, never sating the hungry beast within.
It was his third hour into his buffet of Pomeranian when he was so rudely interrupted. The door was kicked in and an apparent human female charged through the door. A gun in hand, she fired one shot right into Jackson’s head. Jackson’s vision went black and he fell to his second death. “Sick Freaks will eat anything.” His killer stated.
In short, young Jackson was an outstanding man. He lived his life and loved his family. Lessons learned from his story are in short. Don’t take advantage of the first opportunity that knocks. Don’t make rash decisions without knowing what the end result could be and don’t let your guard down. This was Jackson Willard’s story.