[ WP ] You are John Doe , a completely unremarkable and forgettable person . You are so forgettable , in fact , that even Death forgot about you .

John lived a completely unremarkable life. As a child, he never stood out in class. Never had his work read out in class, never performed in the yearly play, never played for the school team. In fact, it was only because the teachers took attendance every morning that his friends somehow managed to remember him. 
 
 A plain boy in plain clothes from a plain background. 
 
 His family was unremarkable, too. A father working in a canning factory in a seaside town, commuting daily at dawn and arriving back in time for supper. His mother, a stay-at-home mom, made supper as John did his homework on the dining table. They used to speak of mundane things during supper: the weather, work, school. Sometimes his parents would speak to each other about work, and drowned by the buzzing of the TV, they would forget he was at the table too. 
 
 John would slip away to his room unnoticed. 
 
 At twenty five, John was working at a small company, commuting from his childhood home. His parents did n't mind, as he was barely ever home. He could n't live alone with his wages, and he did n't have anyone else to live with. John was no longer in touch with his school friends, and he barely hung out with his colleagues. In fact, tonight, they forgot to invite him again. 
 
 It was nine p.m., and John was just finishing up his report. A sudden flash of light illuminated his window, making John look up. The rain had turned from a drizzle to a full-blown storm. He stood up from his work desk, ready to submit his report to his boss, but found an empty room. 
 
 Again, he sighed. 
 
 By nine thirty, John was waiting at the bus stop to go home. He held on tightly to his umbrella, swaying in the wind. The bus' headlights came into view around the corner, and soon John was aboard the bus. 
 
 As usual, the Friday night route into town was filled with all sorts. Workers, drunk with their colleagues. Or couples on dates, returning home in each others' arms. Younger ones, coming in barely in time for their curfew. Their chatter remained unbothered by the sound of rain and thunder, leaving John in his silence. 
 
 Even today, the very last day of his life of had been unremarkable. 
 
 At ten thirty p.m., the rescuers came to the wreckage of the bus. After weeks of heavy rain, a landslide had smashed the bus halfway through the railing. Men in uniform came with stretchers, carrying the living and the dead alike out of the wreck. 
 
 When he regained consciousness, John found himself stuck on a branch. The last thing he had remembered was being thrown out the window of the bus. John looked ahead, finding the horizon obscured by storm clouds. He could hear the waves crashing under him, and the distant sounds of sirens and shouts. 
 
 Over here, he wanted to say. But nothing came out. 
 
 John tried to wiggle himself free, pushing his arms against the branch. He managed to lift himself up a little, but he could n't feel his legs. He looked down, finding nothing. 
 
 His legs were gone. 
 
 Half his torso was gone. 
 
 What? He thought. Am I dead? 
 
 John panicked and reached down with his arms, feeling down his body. Nothing, there was nothing below the waist. He felt his heart beat quickly for a second, then nothing. His heart had stopped beating too. John realized that he had stopped breathing. 
 
 I'm dead. He told himself. Or this is n't real. 
 
 In time, John heard the sirens fade out. The sun soon came out from behind the hills, illuminating John and the sea in a soft orange glow. He stared at the horizon, then looked down at what remained of his body. The sunlight confirmed what he thought was his delusion to be real. 
 
 John was most definitely a corpse, an incomplete one at that, but he still had his mind. John felt alive, but he was sure that he should n't be. 
 
 He stared again at the horizon. The cliff loomed over him, an unscalable surface for a man with legs, much more so more a man with almost no body left. Besides, what would people say upon finding a half-torso that was still alive? 
 
 John chuckled at the scenario, imagining himself starting a zombie panic. And yet there he was, a sample of a true living dead. 
 
 How did this happen? He thought many times during the weeks after. Is n't anyone coming to get me? 
 
 John was n't much of a believer of the afterlife, but he definitely thought there was going to be an end. Perhaps a Death to come fetch you, or separate you from your body as you disintegrate into non-existence. John found himself troubled by the inconclusiveness of his `` death''. 
 
 First came the birds, pecking at his open torso and his body. They came for his eyes too, but John did his best to keep the shut. 
 
 After all, he was half a body stuck on a branch with nothing to do other than watch the horizon. 
 
 After a few days, another storm came, and the winds threw John into the water. He could feel himself hitting the sharp rocks underneath the waves, cutting him apart even more. The waves threw him from rock to rock, across the sand and the pebbles at the bottom. 
 
 Only little more than John's head made it to a stop when it was finally wedged between two coarse rocks. Inside the sea, the water was loud in his ears, and John could feel his flesh rotting faster. The fishes came for John, biting his skin and what was left of his flesh. 
 
 In the murky waters, John saw nothing but slivers of light on the waves above him. 
 
 Soon enough, nothing remained of John. Another storm had come, breaking apart his bones and smashing him to pieces. John's consciousness faded then, like a light that had finally flickered off, and John was finally sent into the dark. 
 
 John lived a completely unremarkable life. It was so unremarkable, that in death that he became remarkable, as Death had completely forgotten about him. Somewhere, a name crossed itself from Death's list. 
 
 Death was lucky that John remained unseen until his body disintegrated. After all, who knew how furious God would be if He knew Death had almost started a zombie apocalypse, again. 
 
 
 
 

