It came, eventually, but it was not the serenity she’d been lead to believe. Was everyone else just faking it? Was she losing her mind? It was becoming hard to tell.
Joan continued to sit stiffly still. Her back was arched as instructed. She softly held her brown eyes closed. She had been timing her breath to the rhythm of the babbling brook. Well, she was in a hastily redecorated office space so it was a CD of a babbling brook. The overall effect was cheesy, and she’d been considering leaving when the vision hit.
The old hippy sitting in front of them all continued to drone on and on, spewing one empty platitude after another. She sighed very quietly and popped open one eye. There was a mix of soft crying and ecstatic smiles. Sam, of course, was grinning like a goon. That didn’t seem right. Is that what people did when they astrally projected to see their own death. Ugh, it was all so damn silly! How had she let Sam talk her into this?
Oddly, the hippy nonsense had delivered. She had seen herself, much older, choking to death on a ham sandwich. She was just sitting on that same orange couch of hers, much worse for the wear, going all bug-eyed and purple.
She'd nearly laughed out loud. It hadn’t been a profound experience, not at all. In fact, it mostly served to make Joan hungry.
Fuck it. She was done. There was good deli just around the corner, and though Sam was pretty, she was also pretty dumb. It was over.
And who knew, maybe she would die in a sandwich related incident, or maybe she should just get rid of that ratty old couch. Joan stood up and marched quickly out the door.