When you die, you might come back. The Reverend said.

Short Fiction | Sandra Campbell | Issue 43

Jan 25, 2025

About the toilet running

Alan, the toilet is still running, a snake-hissing sound and at first it only came and went and I figured it was Mira in the basement having a shower or something like that but then I remembered she up and left, cleared out her place, so I lifted the lid of the tank and watched the water seeping and I fiddled with the lever and looked at all the small bits inside and watched them going up and down and sideways, sort of, and still it kept running and I tried not to hear the hissing—on then off for days on end and I couldn’t help feeling bad about of all the good clean water going to waste and who could I call for help in these pandemic days and was it safe anyways to let anyone, even a fixer into the house because how would I know where they’ve been, who they’ve slept with and that’s when I called out loud—Alan what would you do—which I’ve never done before, but maybe you know that already, and then it happened, the toilet stopped running, for no obvious reason because I hadn’t fiddled a thing, I hadn’t even lifted the lid. I waited and watched wanting so to believe that your fingers had just been inside the tank’s cold water fooling around with the screws, the lever, the gasket, not that I know what a gasket is, but you’d know for sure which is how I know your fiddling stopped the running, made this silence and I can’t stop smiling and I can’t stop thinking that it’s like Leonard Cohen said—god is alive and magic is afoot—and I start to shiver and shake and I figure maybe it’s the chill of the frozen spring day outside pretending it’s still winter and I can’t find enough to wrap around me to stop the shaking so I rummage through my sweaters and stir up a flurry of moths fat with stolen wool and I am not smiling anymore and I hear myself saying, Alan oh Alan, all I want to know is can you hear me, can you make the shaking stop?

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-2:14

Overheard in the parking lot of The Cardinal Funeral Home

When you die, you might come back. The Reverend said.

Once you’re earthed, worms will have their way with you. They’ll rip, tear, munch and chew—skin,blood,bones. Your hair too, he said- it’s the last to go. The creepy critters will shit you out, every gritty, sticky bit of you. You’ll be a speck among billions. You’re dirt, like what’s underneath your feet.

But hold on, it’s not over yet. There’re those seeds—the ones that birds poop, winds drop. They’ll land willy-nilly, then nuzzle down, feed on you, until they’re all plumped up—oh yes, and before you know it, skinny white threads drill down from their bottoms. Once landed, the sun will pull you up to nose above the dirt, wobbly and green. Sprout. Flower. Bloom.

So how’s that for resurrection?

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-1:20