I've died 27 times.

So like, a weird question. Have you died recently? I mean it. I have memories of me dying horrible deaths, some pain filled and vivid, but some so quick and painless I don't even know how I've been killed. Dismemberment from a saw and subsequent bleeding out. I've had a friend stab me in my back (literally). Random heart attack. Shot in a school bathroom. You get the idea.
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Yet, here I am. Still alive and kicking when I'm writing this. I know I've died, I remember the pain. The horrible feeling of fading to nothingness. There isn't anything after you die. You don't see black. You see nothing. There's no more you to percieve the color of black. If you believe in an afterlife, you may be right about it. But for me, I've died so many times and came back, I don't even believe in that stuff anymore.
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I only know I died when I get a feeling of deja vu. Once I get that feeling, the memory is almost transported into my mind. I've come to the conclusion that whenever I experience deja vu, it's me respawning. Like a video game, if you will. My death is then shown to me so I know what to avoid while I'm experiencing it. Once the deja vu feeling is over, I see what happens after the moment I experienced, which is normally my death. I then don't do what I was gonna do. Or sometimes, it just doesn't happen again. Like the aforementioned heart attack incident.
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I'm going to explain my first time with this feeling, out if the possible 27. And I remember all of them crystal clear.
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It started when I was 12. That was when I first saw my first death. I was sitting in Ms. Johnson's homeroom in 7th grade. The old woman (seriously, she was 60. Pretty ancient for a teacher) was droning on about the Civil War. I stared at the board blankly, the chalk scratching against the black material was the only sound in the room. I could feel myself drifting off to sleep before it hit me. The first of many. I had began to feel like I've experienced this moment before. The exact words coming from her mouth, I could predict them with ease. For the next 5 seconds, everything was familiar to me.
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Then the death played in my mind. She snapped. Ms. Johnson let out a big sigh and said "You know, I'm tired of this ****ing job." The class let out a collective gasp. We had never heard her curse. Then the laughter started. It was middle school, after all.
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"Yes, children, laugh it up. I'm the laughing stock of this class, huh? HUH?" She screamed out that last part, causing me to flinch. Sweat beads formed on her forehead, glistening in the bright florescent lighting.
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"You all are my reason for this! You forced me over!" She continued her screaming. Then her eyes focused on mine. My blood ran cold and I felt the color drain from my features.
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"Especially you, Adam. You are the worst student I've ever had! Falling asleep in class, drawing on the desks, stealing from my purse, and to top it off, you disrupt all of my lessons!" The stealing on the purse part was partially true, I took a piece of gum. But yeah, I never said I was a good kid.
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She reached into the aforementioned purse, that she always kept on her desk. She pulled out a small revolver. The class instantly let out another gasp, several girls began to cry. I let out a small whimper. She motioned with her finger to come to her.
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I stood up reluctantly and walked over to her, she then pulled me closer to her, my back against her front. It was awkward for me to be against my teacher, but given the situation, I haven't thought about it. She pressed the cold metal to my temple, which caused me to start to cry. The tears left my eyes with a stinging sensation and fell to the floor.
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Ms. Johnson, stroked my hair and shushed me. "Shhh, shhh. Don't cry. This is your fault. You weren't crying when you did those awful things to me." Her tone was reassuring but easily identifiable as fake. "You're going to a bad place. You'll suffer for all eternity." She growled in my ear.
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"Say goodbye to the class, Adam!" She said this in the voice that she used to greet the class.
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I waved bye to everyone, my tears still streaming. I thought about all the things I wouldn't be able to do. Get married, have kids, say goodbye to my parents, all of it. After I was done, I heard a loud bang. Then the memory dissolves off.
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When I began to experience deja vu, I quickly ran out of the classroom and got the school resource officer. They found the gun and arrested her, leaving me to be regarded as a sort of hero among my classmates. Crazy Johnson, they started calling her.
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But anyways, that's the first of 28 times. Did I say 28? Oh, yeah. That's because I'm getting deja vu as I type. Looks like it's another heart attack. I gotta lay off the burgers.
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Source.