I WAS
DEAD:
stone cold, there in
the mall, standing as stiff as a mannequin.
The lighting was
pale, all the departments were closed, and
a young woman stood
next to me, also dead. Kindly, she took
my hand and guided
me to the entryway, where it was brighter.
The front door was
calmly monitored by a former acquaintance
who recognized her,
nodded slightly, and buzzed us through.
By degrees we were
becoming less robotic in our movements,
though not yet
alive. And we continued down a tapering aisle
through another
glass door and another, my recently-deceased
companion waved
through by former coworkers and friends.
And I benefited too,
though truly I was just along for the ride.
By now we could tell
that the next bright gate would be the last,
and beyond it,
street traffic and sun. But we were blocked by
a large man in a
control booth who shook his head, stubbornly
barring us. Then
all hope of leaving the commercial crypt fled,
and everything faded
to black. When we came to, we were back
in the store—unable
to move, adorned in heavy winter coats.
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