I’m more than a dead skunk in a crawlspace, I have feelings too. I’m not sure how long I’ve been in this place, but it has to have been quite a while. I got sick a couple of months ago after a bad fight with a raccoon. I sprayed him but he definitely got off better than I did. I’m not sure if I died right after that or if I wandered around for a while before I found this place, my memory is a little hazy. I don’t remember a lot from before I died, but I remember my life, and everything after the fact.
At first I was in denial. I kept telling myself that I couldn’t have been that guy that when people ask what happened to him they say, “Oh, he died in a crawlspace.” That was my uncle, or at least we think it was but skunks all look the same. Then I was angry because cats and raccoons kept coming down near me because it’s warmer down here and I became a convenient snack when needed. After a while I didn’t mind as much, I mean I’m a dead skunk rotting in a crawlspace, I can’t exactly be picky with my company can I? Besides it was nice to know that not all of me went to waste.
Right now though, I’m tired. My body is almost gone, there’s only fur, some bones, my tail, and one foot left; the rest has been scavenged and just decomposed. I’m wary of the same old sight of gravel, wood, and the small peek of sunshine I get once in a while from the hole I used to get down here. I just want someone to come get me out. Dispose of my body somewhere and let me get to the “Rest in Peace” part of death. Being a dead in a crawlspace is nice and all, but I’d much prefer to be dead in heaven.