[ WP ] In the near future , the reanimation of the recently deceased becomes scientifically possible . Despite being illegal in the United States , underground scientists reanimate someone that committed suicide .

I knew there was n't any fucking afterlife. I knew it. Not that I really expected to just pop into existence somewhere, golden gates on one side and some fiery abyss on the other, some douchebag immortal or whatever telling me about the pros and cons of my life, like each one was some kind of ticket I won at the carnival. Just enough for one prize, heaven or hell. 
 
 I just wanted something new. I wanted to end up someplace where miracles were n't commonplace anymore, where the world had a little bit of mystery, a little bit of awe left in it. Besides, I was old anyway. I'd made it to my Centenarian, and some years past that, and I could remember the days when people still drove cars instead of computers. Hell, I could remember the days when we still used motherfucking *gasoline*. 
 
 I was tired. So tired. It did n't matter that my joints had been replaced with some kind've nano-silico-robo-whatthefucks two decades ago, and that the valves on my heart were sponsored by NASCAR. I mean, jesus. Even parts of my brain had been patched, after I fell off the roof cleaning the gutter ( let me tell you, boys, thats a great way to get out of having to do housework. We hired a robot after that ). But, yeah, like I was saying. I'm tired, goddammit. I've seen too much, and I do n't think we were meant to see all this shit. I think that maybe that first heart attack should've killed me, and maybe then I could've stayed dead. Instead, I feel them pulling me back from the brink. Again. 
 
 I do n't want to go back to that body that does n't feel like home anymore. I do n't want to be tethered to that creaky hulk that once housed whatever I am now. A soul, maybe. They reel me in like a fish on a line, and its close now. Any minute I'll feel the bone deep ache of gravity, and then they'll connect up my eyes and I'll glare at them for all I'm worth. 
 
 See, they like to keep me around, these know-it-all scientist. Cramming my soul back into something man made. Maybe that is all that is left, now. I certainly have n't found any evidence to the contrary that god or whatever make things anymore. I mean, shit. We're bringing people back from the dead. The Lazarus Project. If there was n't a bigger pile of crap to fling at the creator, I do n't know what else there is. 
 
 Not that I believe in a creator anymore, mind you. I've been to this side more times than I can count. 
 
 Oh, oh right. See, they like to keep me around because I was the last President our Great United States had. Had. We're like a god damn ancient Roman Republic now, and I guess the people are better represented. They like to tote me out, time to time, like I'm some god damn mascot. I wo n't be surprised if next time I wake up in an eagle, or some shit. 
 
 Ah, here it comes. I feel my heart whirring like clock work, and open my eyes. 
 
 `` God bless America...'' I sigh, and not a one of those young Harvard nerds catches the sarcasm.
