3DSP Piece of Writing: Lee P. Thompson sighed and he thumbed over his marker barcode. His marker bar code. The place and sign that, for the second time, signified his death. It really was an unfortunate life he led, faking his own death twice; but nevertheless, it was his life. And he knew that he had a purpose. He had to find a cure for this disease. Whether he killed a few innocent, and a few guilty, men, was irrelevant. They would die for science. Just as he hoped to. It was a good death. Lee would know.
Lee's old watch ticked with confirmation that it still worked after all these years. He stumbled over to a streetlamp so he could read his watch, 11:49. Almost a year. Wow. It had been so long. The ominous weather did not help his mood whatsoever. Lee wanted to see his family, but he knew he couldn't. He couldn't risk the chance that they would get Frei Fever from him. He sighed yet again and took another swig of whiskey.
12:01 a.m.
It was officially the anniversary of his first "death," and Lee was piss drunk. He stood from his seat on the stairs of some big shot's mansion, stumbling out into the road. Lee knew exactly where his feet were leading him, but he refused to acknowledge it. He was back at the markers, tripping over the old railroad tracks in an effort to find his marker. Eventually he came upon it. It took his bloodshot, glazed over eyes a few minutes to focus, and what he saw sobered him immediately. Instead of reading 1996, his marker read 2014, yet the same date. Lee scurried away from his marker, immensely confused. How could this be? Was he going to die today? When? Where? How? Or, shuddering as he thought this, was he already dead?
He bent down and picked up the flowers laid below his marker. Fresh. But that meant nothing. It could have been his wife, bringing them to remember him on the anniversary of his death. Or it could be for the death that apparently occurred today. As he dropped the daisies back to the ground, a small, folded piece of paper fell out of the bouquet. Tears brimmed his eyes as he read:
To my dearest Lee,
I love you. I will never stop loving you. Not even when I join you in heaven. Not even when our kids join us in heaven. They think about you alot. I can tell. They miss their daddy, Samantha especially. Samantha started crying in class today because she was asked to draw a picture of her family; she drew you above us. Not a minute passes where I don't think of you and where you are now. I wish you would come back. I wish I could hug you one last time and tell you all the things I'm dying to say. But I cannot. So instead they're in this letter.
I think about joining you alot. It would be easy, we always had so many chemicals in the house. The only thing, really the only thing, holding me back is the fact that Jonathan looks just like you. He's a spitting image of you as a child. When I informed him of your death, it was almost as if I was telling you that you had passed away. I can't handle it. Seeing him tears me apart and sews me together again at the same time. I can only hope that he will be like you when he grows up.
I hope heaven treats you well, better than I could down here.
With all the love I will ever have, Your wife, Monica
3DSP Artifact:
This certificate was found near the Markers, tucked neatly underneath the railroad tracks. Though it is slightly water damaged, this sheet remains in good condition. Lee Thompson is the main character of my piece of writing, along with the mysterious many deaths he has had. A death certificate seemed to fit the main idea I was trying to establish.
3DSP Piece of Writing:
Lee P. Thompson sighed and he thumbed over his marker barcode. His marker bar code. The place and sign that, for the second time, signified his death. It really was an unfortunate life he led, faking his own death twice; but nevertheless, it was his life. And he knew that he had a purpose. He had to find a cure for this disease. Whether he killed a few innocent, and a few guilty, men, was irrelevant. They would die for science. Just as he hoped to. It was a good death. Lee would know.
Lee's old watch ticked with confirmation that it still worked after all these years. He stumbled over to a streetlamp so he could read his watch, 11:49. Almost a year. Wow. It had been so long. The ominous weather did not help his mood whatsoever. Lee wanted to see his family, but he knew he couldn't. He couldn't risk the chance that they would get Frei Fever from him. He sighed yet again and took another swig of whiskey.
12:01 a.m.
It was officially the anniversary of his first "death," and Lee was piss drunk. He stood from his seat on the stairs of some big shot's mansion, stumbling out into the road. Lee knew exactly where his feet were leading him, but he refused to acknowledge it.
He was back at the markers, tripping over the old railroad tracks in an effort to find his marker. Eventually he came upon it. It took his bloodshot, glazed over eyes a few minutes to focus, and what he saw sobered him immediately. Instead of reading 1996, his marker read 2014, yet the same date. Lee scurried away from his marker, immensely confused. How could this be? Was he going to die today? When? Where? How? Or, shuddering as he thought this, was he already dead?
He bent down and picked up the flowers laid below his marker. Fresh. But that meant nothing. It could have been his wife, bringing them to remember him on the anniversary of his death. Or it could be for the death that apparently occurred today. As he dropped the daisies back to the ground, a small, folded piece of paper fell out of the bouquet. Tears brimmed his eyes as he read:
To my dearest Lee,
I love you. I will never stop loving you. Not even when I join you in heaven. Not even when our kids join us in heaven. They think about you alot. I can tell. They miss their daddy, Samantha especially. Samantha started crying in class today because she was asked to draw a picture of her family; she drew you above us. Not a minute passes where I don't think of you and where you are now. I wish you would come back. I wish I could hug you one last time and tell you all the things I'm dying to say. But I cannot. So instead they're in this letter.
I think about joining you alot. It would be easy, we always had so many chemicals in the house. The only thing, really the only thing, holding me back is the fact that Jonathan looks just like you. He's a spitting image of you as a child. When I informed him of your death, it was almost as if I was telling you that you had passed away. I can't handle it. Seeing him tears me apart and sews me together again at the same time. I can only hope that he will be like you when he grows up.
I hope heaven treats you well, better than I could down here.
With all the love I will ever have,
Your wife, Monica
3DSP Artifact:
This certificate was found near the Markers, tucked neatly underneath the railroad tracks. Though it is slightly water damaged, this sheet remains in good condition. Lee Thompson is the main character of my piece of writing, along with the mysterious many deaths he has had. A death certificate seemed to fit the main idea I was trying to establish.