[ WP ] You 've been dead for 67 days . You awake to the entire world watching the first human revival . Your revival .

`` Those fucking kids!'' The butcher said as he saw my bike. It was chained up of course but the seat was stolen. This was n't a good neighborhood everyone knew it but in our own way we tried to make it better. 
 
 `` I can just pedal standing I said. The man was far too fat to get worked up over something so small. He was bought to give himself a heart attack.'' 
 
 I worked at the chain bending over to do so. 
 
 `` Nasty scar.'' The man said. I reached up to pull the shirt back down where it had ridden up. 
 
 `` I donated a kidney.'' I said bashfully. I did n't do it for recognition, but because I had two and only needed one. Like the bone marrow donations I made. Twice. I could help so I did. 
 
 The butcher nodded to me and helped me slid into the backpack he was carrying. It was my backpack but he always insisted on helping me. He donated the meats for the soup kitchen, and even the ribs for the homeless shelter art gallery we did each year to raise money. When I brought my `` little brother'' by to teach him about pride in your work and how the body was put together, the man never blinked at having a fifteen year old gang member in his shop. By giving the boy a job he helped change his life. 
 
 Hell the man even donated money for the paint when I organised the park clean up. He was a good man. 
 
 Socrates was a wise man, but even he, one of the great thinkers, said that every man should know the limits of his body. Should know the joy in being physically fit. I took a lot of the man's words to heart but those doubly so. 
 
 By the time I reached fifteenth street my legs were burning. Fire raced through my veins and my lungs strained. I heard the sirens of course. How could I not. But stopped before I shot through the intersection was n't possible. The kids that stole the seat clipped the brake lines. I watched the car come flying at me. 
 
 
 
 `` BPM at fifty-seven. Pressure good. Check the levels of...'' 
 
 
 
 `` Those Fucking kids!'' The butcher said. He was always like this. angry at the world. 
... 
... 
... 
 I watched the car approach, but there was no impact. 
 
 
 `` Two CCs of Norizepa. Where is that EKG reading?'' 
 
 
 `` Those Fucking Kids.'' 
 There was the car. 
 
 `` Mister Tolin?'' Someone asked. I realized my eyes were n't focusing correctly. They kept talking to me but everything was a bit off as if I had been staring at one of those magic eye books. 
 
 `` Mister Tolin?'' 
 
 Hospitable. Smells of steel and sterilite. Woman. No nurse. 
 
 `` What?'' I manage to say. She stands up and looks at the big mirror. 
 
 `` Mister Tolin?'' She asks again. 
 
 `` Yes that's me.'' I manage to say. It seems my legs are okay, though one foot is in a cast. She is writing something down on her clipboard. I finger my ear. Something sounds odd. A weird background noise I ca n't identify. 
 
 `` Do you know where you are?'' She asks. 
 
 `` Hospitable.'' I say. My throat is extremely dry. 
 
 The door flies open. A man tackled by three others as he burst into the room. 
 
 `` Abomination!'' He screams over and over as they men drag him out. The nurse leaves for a while then returns. 
 
 `` I'm sorry about that.'' She says. 
 
 `` Some people just need more help than others.'' I say. She stops writing and looks at me for a long time, then glances at the large mirror and back to me. 
 
 `` I can see why they choose you.'' She says. Then she leaves again. 
 
 Suddenly I have to piss so badly I cringe. I make it to the small bathroom and take two seconds to hit the bowl I'm pissing so hard. I'll clean it up of course. The nurses have enough on their hands, like that disturbed man, that they do n't need to clean up my piss. 
 
 On the way back to my bed I identify the sounds. They are coming from outside. The curtains are pulled of course. but when they are opened the sounds grows louder. There are people stretched out as far as I can see. Picket signs and candles burning in the near dawn light. I open the window and the sound crashes over me. Angry loud noises. This is n't a crowd of happy people. 
 
 `` Come away from there sir.'' A male voice says behind me. I turn to see what can only be called a private security man. The guys they pay ten dollars an hour do n't stay in that good of shape or wear that many items on their belt. 
 
 `` What is happening?'' I ask. 
 
 The man maneuvered me to the bed and closes the window. Then he picked the TV remote up and slips it over to a channel. 
 
 `` Road to hell is paved with good intentions!'' A man screamed. 
 
 `` And that's why we ca n't have a discussion with these religious types.'' Another man says when that person was muted. They still are frantically waving their arms but no sound is coming out. 
 
 `` If you thought there was a war between those people too ignorant to read their history and see this is n't a christian nation before Mr. Lazarus, we actually have these people, who say they believe in Christ and his teachings. Mind you turning the other cheek was one of those teachings. We have these people killing people. Day three, the man still sleeps and we are at six hundred and forty three deaths. The fringe Muslims are saying this man may be the son of god. While the fringe Christians, and even the soccer mom Christians are saying he's the Antichrist. People this was simply a medical procedure. I mean come on. In a hundred years they are going to call this Detroit's witch hunt. So they bring a dead guy back to life. Why are n't we as a nation celebrating.'' 
 
 `` Have you read about this guy? Shit this is the guy the should bring back, I mean...'' He picked up a piece of paper form his desk. `` This guy served in Iraq, took seven bullets pulling his interperter from a burning truck. He donated over a gallon of blood in his life, gave a kidney, two bone marrow transplants. All for strangers mind you. He helps out in the soup kitchens and homeless shelters. He fucking volunteers to do peoples taxes. Are you kidding me. This guy deserves to live! And they are arguing in court about whether or not to pull the plug on him. I mean -'' 
 
 `` Hold on folks. We have confirmation Mr. Lazarus is awake.'' The image cuts over to an old brick building with a lot of windows. The video is shaky but he can see one of the curtains pull back and then the window open. 
 
 `` That's me.'' I say slowly.
