Friend Of The Dead

Frankenstein's Monster

It was like I'd stepped in through the looking glass, and a whole new world was presented to me. I felt strangely light, like I had no weight at all. I stared up above me, my mind clear of everything but wonder. Everything was so clear.

Sharp and defined. The brilliant light overhead was still blinding-bright, and yet I could plainly see the glowing strands of the filaments inside the bulb. Behind the light, I could distinguish the individual grains in the dark wood ceiling above. In front of it, I could see the dust motes in the air, the sides the light touched, and the dark sides, distinct and separate. They spun like little planets, moving around each other in a celestial dance.

Out of reflex, I inhaled a gust of air; but only after I'd done it I realized something, the action felt wrong. I did it once more and realized the problem was that there was no relief tied to it. I didn't need the air. My lungs weren't waiting for it. They reacted indifferently to the influx. I did not need the air, but I liked it. In it, I could taste the room around me—taste the lovely dust motes, the mix of the stagnant air mingling with the flow of slightly cooler air from the open door. Taste a lush whiff of silk. Taste a faint hint of something warm and desirable, something I wanted to follow. I inhaled one more time and tasted something far away, wet and moist, like grass.

I tried to locate feeling in my body again, starting from blinking and moving down bit by bit, stiffening my shoulders, moving my fingers, my knees, my toes. I did this again before I started to get up.

I felt a rush and suddenly I was sitting up, with my legs hanging down the side of what seemed like a medical bed. I stared down at myself, seeing that I was in a simple pyjama like grey romper with spaghetti straps. It reached the top of my thighs and left the rest exposed.

Something was wrong with this image.

It occurred to me in the back of my mind that I wasn't wearing this before.

A distinct bad smell of dirt and mud and something else slightly appealing caught my nose, and I turned to the side to see the remains of what seemed like my clothes, despite their rugged appearance and the tears in them they were folded neatly, but I could immediately see the black and brown stains woven into the threads.

I felt a little bit repulsed at the obvious fact that someone undressed me.

Then something ontop of the pile of clothes caught my eye, and in a few seconds---what felt like seconds---I had it in my hands.

It was the pocket-watch he had given to me, but I didn't feel the weight of it in my hand, nor did I feel the coldness of the metal against my flesh. I held it in my palm with my fingers opened, my gaze transfixed on the piece of rusted antique, seeing details about it that I'd never seen before.

Was this what the afterlife felt like? So strange and weightless?

Wasn't I dead?

I looped the pocket-watch's chain around my neck and it rested between my breasts.

Let's explore Wonderland.

I heard sounds, weird sounds that I couldn't distinguish, the thudding of something against the ground, but it didn't sound like footsteps. I looked up to see I was standing in front of a full wall window, and a forest that seemed too much like the one in Forks was in my view.

I stared with my new and sharp vision at all the details, seeing so much from the greenery that I felt overwhelmed.

I realized that I had a hand pressed against my stomach, and then realized it was because of the uncomfortable feeling in it. I focused on it, putting all my thought into pinpointing what the feeling was. It was like before, the vague ache in my stomach that told me when a soul was nearby, and in what direction. But now it felt more enhanced, I could feel one soul, two, three, four, five, a dozen, two dozen, I could feel more than I was accustomed to, and strangely enough I could tell exactly where and how long away they were from me. It was like I had the information stored in my brain.