Recur 27 Syndrome

Every Tuesday at exactly 2:11 p.m. I die for 14 minutes. I die the exact same way every Tuesday. Of course, it took me several times of dying before I realized what was happening to me. Just like the Tom Cruise movie 'Day After Tomorrow'. I've died at work, at the bank, the dentist, and on the bus to name a few places. I've gotten used to it now. I am able to schedule my death in my list of 'to do' things for Tuesdays.

The first time it happened though was insane. I was standing in line at Starbucks. There were 3 caffeine dependent people ahead of me trying not to look antsy. Out of nowhere my earlobes began itching. I used the chopstick I had in my sloppy bun, to keep it in place, to scratch them with. I got some weird looks and people quietly moved away from me. I don't blame them. I was scratching like a cat with fleas. No matter how hard I scratched them they kept itching. The itch spread to my neck and face eating me up. I left my place in line. By the time I reached the entrance to Starbucks the whole upper half of my body was itching like a rogue yeast infection. I was scratching so bad at that point I looked like a dragon rock user 'picking' from withdrawals.

I stumbled out of Starbucks, literally, because the soles of my feet were on fire which made me hop around, off balanced, I stumbled to the ground. Next came the hiccups. My body jerked violently with each hiccup. People were videoing me sprawled out on the ground scratching and hiccuping.

I remember at some point; calling for my mama to come help me. Someone was yelling to call 911 because they thought I was seizing. People's voices started fading out when the bees started stinging me. I felt like hundreds of bees were stinging my whole body using their stingers to carve their initials in my skin. Then it finally stopped. Eerie quiet and blue light enveloped me. The itching stopped, the burning and hiccups stopped, and I didn't feel bee stings anymore. I felt feathers white, soft, downy, feathers and floating as of I were laying in a water bed. Rainbow coloured stones swirled around me and formed a path underneath my feet. A great sparkling, teal, mushroom started coming towards me. I had to shade my eyes the closer it got; the rays were so bright. It didn't register that I should be scared or at least curious about where I was and what was happening to me. I was just so happy all the itching and pain was gone.

I walked about half a mile in the blue light trying to make out shapes of objects around me. A little further up on my right was what looked like a mechanical bull with a white leather saddle. It was beckoning me to come and get on it. I rub my hands across the soft leather of the saddle and climb up on the mechanical bull, place my feet firmly in the stirrups, and grip the horn of the saddle with my right hand. I raise my left arm up and nod to signal the start-up like I was a real rodeo rider. The ride starts and my body starts flinging and bucking all over the place. I hold on for dear life.

They bring me back.

"CLEAR!" they yell. The electric jolt from the AED courses through my body and I lift a couple inches off the ground.

I feel a heavy thump in my chest and then my eyes open wide and I gulp a deep lung full of air.

I felt sluggish, weak and cold, but, as time passes I feel more like my normal self. I ask for a cup of water and a blanket. I'm rushed to a nearby hospital ; where they check me over and want to admit me for over-night observation. I refused. I just wanted to go home, take a shower and crash.

Since this happens to me every Tuesday at precisely 2:11 p.m. for fourteen minutes; plus thanks to social media; word of my dying spread like wildfire. They call me 'The Ressurected'. They consider me a medical phenomenon because of when, how, and for how long I die; coupled with the fact that I live a relatively normal life with no side effects after my dying episodes. Doctors and research companies flood my email. If they get no response from me via email then my DM's on every social media platform I own are filled with requests to let them study my 'S A' (special ability). They assure me the most ethical measures would be used of course; completely in my best interest. They continually try to coerce me. Goading me to understand how it's my responsibility to allow testing and video documenting of my 'S A' for the greater good of the human race. Big financial incentives are fired at me left and right, especially, by the research companies; a leased condo in the Willowdale Commons, my student loan taken out of default and paid in full, a no limit Black card at my disposal.

TV show producers leave messages on my home answering machine. I've received boxes of chocolate, bouquets of roses, gift cards, pre-paid spa treatments from famous talk show host trying to get me to be a guest on their show.

They're relentless. It's all overwhelming. I'm openly stalked every Tuesday. When I step outside; I see reporters and news crews camped out outside my apartment complex. They rush up to me asking me all kind of dumb questions like; what's it feel like to be dead? Do I have mutant powers? Have I seen Elvis? Photographers snap hundreds of pictures of me. I'm plastered across all kinds of seedy tabloids. One said I was the love child of Elon Musk and Kate Spade. How that is relevant I have no clue.

My co-workers have been offered money to follow me around and record where I go and what I do. Even my family members have been affected. When my mom called crying saying she was cornered at CVS by some reporters; my dad decided to call a family friend, who's more like an uncle to me, for help.

He's a member of a special ops mercenary outfit. After I told him about the harassment I was dealing with; he sent a tactical team out to my apartment the next day. Five men in all black and kevlar bullet proof vest escorted me from my apartment to a black Yukon with tinted windows; drove me to a private airport; put me on a Cessna Skyhawk and whisked me away to a remote cabin safehouse till everything dies down (sorry I couldn't resist).

For now I feel safe. I'm away from the madness. After about two weeks of speculation and false sightings; they've moved on to the next sensational story. These days I am a pro at dying. I even have a personal medical team that shadows me because I still die every Tuesday at 2:11 p.m. for fourteen minutes.