Well, there was the time I made a friend.

It was unusual enough being dead, really. After they closed my eyes I had a lot of time to think about everything that had happened but one day I just saw her stood over me. She was rather muddy but otherwise a pretty plain girl, to be honest; brown hair, brown eyes, a bit podgy. About eighteen, I reckon, but she didn’t look comfortable enough in herself to really be called a woman. Anyway, she dragged me into her car and we… well, she had a chat.

“It’s nice to have someone new to talk to. Things have been tense lately, between me and my parents, and I don’t really have any friends at the moment.”

She glanced over at me as she got ready to turn a corner, looked me dead in the eyes. I honestly wondered for a moment if she knew I was still in here. Seeing there were no other cars she carefully turned the corner and continued.

“My name’s Maggie, by the way. I’m so glad I found you, Alexander. Can I call you Alex? My granddad was called Alex. When I saw your name I just knew you’d be perfect! Sorry, I’m a little bit excited; it’s just so nice to have a new friend. Would you like the radio on?”

She turned on the radio, some new artist came on, not my sort of music, but oh well. Thinking on it, I should’ve known she was a bit unstable by now, but I was glad of the company and change of scenery. Besides, I couldn’t really do anything about it, now could I?

Eventually we pulled up to a house and she switched off the engine and got out of the car. She sorted herself out, and came round to my door and pulled me out.
“You don’t mind sharing my room tonight, do you?”

Hot damn, I’d scored…

“Thank you so much, I feel so much safer with you here.”

She pulled me up the stairs to her room and propped me up against the headrest of her bed. Either she was a lot stronger than she seemed or I’d really lost some weight since I’d last been up and about. Her room was bit of a jumble. Her desk was very neat, all her work was inbound folders on a shelf just above. A higher shelf was stuffed with books teeming with post-it-notes. She seemed to have a hatred of laundry, though. The floor was clear, bar the dirty clothing. Teenagers, I mean really, I could see the basket in the corner.

“Please don’t make too much noise, my parents might hear. I don’t want them ruining things for me as usual. They always get in my way. I know they hate me.”

Now, I wondered how long it was until her mother came to tidy her room just to find me staring at her.

“Anyway, I should sleep. I know you’re probably not tired so I’ll put the TV on quiet for you.”

That was a treat, late night sitcoms, the greatest product of modern culture! Better than the dark, granted, but the Americans really were lacking in the satire I grew up with. Oh, right, she disappeared to get ready for bed after that. A damn sight less muddy and in pyjamas she came back in to the room, got into bed and curled up next to me.

In the morning she got ready for her day. Unfortunately, she covered my eyes when she was getting dressed.

“A girl’s got to have some privacy, cheeky.”

It was the first time I’d seen her smile. Leaving the television on for me again she left and went about her day. When she got back she told me all about her time at college. She was studying literature, dull if you ask me, now history would have been a better choice. She was unpopular in her course and in general it seemed.
Every day, she’d go to college then come back to tell me about her day and study. Over time, she smiled more. That was definitely the best thing about Maggie. Seeing those eyes light up like that, it was easy to forget all that time in the dark.

Eventually, she has real news to tell me. Fresh gossip was nice, I mean, I could see why some people found her a little dull. Back to the point, another outcast had taken an interest in her.

“His name is John; he’s a bit weird but really sweet. He’s taking me out to dinner later. I really think this is the start of something! Things have been so much better with you here to hold my hand.”

I wonder if she’d literally been holding my hand at points, seemed odd but I could never really tell. She adjusted my head because I’d slumped a little and put the comedy network on for me and then went to get ready.

“Wish me luck!”

She ran out the door in glee, off to see this lad. To be honest, the entire situation could’ve been a comedy. The uneasy girl and her social reject of a boyfriend. He could’ve met her dead roommate, plenty of jokes to be made. Something must’ve gone wrong though, she burst back into her room sobbing a few hours later.

“Why does everything always go wrong? Everything was supposed to be better with you here! I just needed you to be my friend. Did my parents talk to you? Are you getting in my way now too? Well, it doesn’t matter because it’ll be over soon.”

She lay there sobbing, crying and staring at me. Her breaths were shallow and gentle for a while and then nothing. Completely still, she kept staring, through dull eyes. I imagine mine weren’t a pretty sight either but I missed her smile. It was the first time I stopped to think that she might be trapped behind them, just like I was behind mine. Well, that made the situation a whole lot more awkward, y’know?

After some time, I heard some noise in the rest of the house. A man, working for the police it seemed, came into the bedroom.

“We got two more in here! One is a lot less fresh the others.”

It hadn’t occurred to me until then that I’d never heard her parents make a single noise. The police went about their job, concluding murder and suicide. Guessing at a grave robbery. I was placed into what I presume was a body bag, one man stopping to close my eyes before zipping it up.

That’s about all that’s happened to me until I started telling you these stories, really. I hope you’ve got some, I feel we’re going to be here a lot longer.

[Well, it's been a while since I've written anything at all, so much studying. This is my first foray into short stories as I usually write poetry. It's a first draft and I really don't know what to think. I got really excited when the idea of people being trapped conscious in their bodies after death popped into my head along with the title. I couldn't really work it into poetic form, I just hope I did my idea some sort of justice.]
It didn't take long to realise
The safest place was not her arms, but her eyes
Where she can't see you
For her gaze, it blisters;
Grey skin to cinders
Last edited by 剣 斧 血 at Jun 2, 2015,
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