What Happened After I Died?

Let me tell you about the day I died. Well, there isn’t much to tell really. I was stupid and young. Driving too fast and texting was more important than looking where I was going. Car accidents happen every day and people die every day.  I simply became part of that statistic.

The day I died isn’t as important as the day I came back. It was your typical Tuesday morning with snow falling from a cloudy sky. After an eternity of floating through a black void of empty space that was my afterlife, a flash of light devoured my eyes and sent a shockwave of torment ripping through my chest. That burst of energy kicked my heart into overdrive which triggered an effect on my brain activity that got me to open my eyes and stared into the buzzing annoyance of a fluorescent light in the ceiling.

Like I said; a typical Tuesday morning.

I woke up in an empty warehouse, strapped to a metal examination table in the middle of a rundown room. That fluorescent light was the only source of electricity in the entire three-story building. No heart monitors, no electrodes attached to my skin. Nothing. It was as if the people who wanted to bring me back, stopped caring if I ever would and took off.

I found clothes in a bag near the table with slip on shoes that were a size too big. I found my way out into the snow, clutching onto the false reality that I was trapped in some sort of heaven or hell. It took a bit for me to realize that the coldness of winter didn’t pierce my skin like it once had. I saw no fog from my breath or goose bumps cascading down my arms and spine. Something about my return to life erased my sense of hot and cold and that was more than fine with me. Sweating sucks and freezing is no cake walk either.

The first town I came to was filled with strange life and fancy new cars and technology I had never seen before. People passed me awkward glances and crossed the street to avoid the strange girl walking along the sidewalk. It wasn’t until I saw my reflection in a storefront window that I realized why they gave me such odd looks.

My hair was a complete disaster of tangled curls and dried blood. Purple bags stuck out against the pale skin of my face and deep veins throbbed on my neck. I leaned closer to the window and noticed a trail of dried blood at the corner of my mouth. I scrubbed it away with the sleeve of my hoodie and ran like hell to get away from the crowd.

Running only attracted more of the wrong attention. Someone called the police and sirens blared through that town like an ocean of madness ready to release a tidal wave of death in my direction.

But I still ran. I ran until the town was a mere shadow in the background of the world behind me. Until the snow stopped falling and I was completely alone in the middle of nowhere.

I ran for days, passing through cities and towns that gave me the same derisive looks. I met the same fate as police cars and governmental figures chased after me. And for what? Because I came back from the dead? Because I walked upright like a normal human being and could put on a damn good act to blend in?

No. They chase me for none of those reasons. They chase me because of what I became after I woke up. After I learned the truth about what happened to my body after I died and the insanity of experiments that brought me back.

You see, as much as I hate to admit this I am no longer a human. I can put on makeup to hide my pale skin and purple veins. I can put in contacts to deceive those around me that my eyes aren’t filled with a hunger drive so strong it could wipe out an entire city block within minutes. I can dress the part and act the part as a normal human being, but deep down inside my once beating heart, I know I’m not.

I’m nothing more than a savage beast, doomed to roam the world until the end of time. A constant hunger always burning in my mind and I can’t give in. I don’t want to give in to the creature I became after death or face the disgusting path my life is now headed down.

The government is after me. People want to kill me. I can blend in with a corpse like there’s no freaking tomorrow. I wish I could find the demented people who did this to me and turned me into a creature I prefer not to recognize, but there is no escaping this. There is no hiding the truth from myself or the rest of the world.

I am a zombie, but I’m trying not to be.

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