Rattlebones (bxbxb)

Feelings

I sit across from the corpse of my dead classmate and watch him casually scroll through the internet. It's like a bad Ariana Grande song, only we're not wearing leather bunny ears and cracking whips in the air.

"So, like, how much can you feel?" I ask Eugene, the scientist part of me curious to know if this was real or just some kind of elaborate after death reflex where he talked and glared at us.

"Does my intense hatred for you count?" Eugene replies. He's scrolling through his Facebook page using my phone and checking out all the posts about how sorry everyone is that he died. "I can't believe this shit. Jen Harrington wrote like five pages about how she blames herself for my death. She cheated on me in seventh grade. I barely know the bitch."

I snap my fingers to get his attention. "Psst! Earth to Eugene, we need to figure this crap out!"

Eugene finally looks up at me. If looks could kill, right?

"Figure out what?" He demands. "You brought me back. You figure it out yourself."

The front door opens and Iggy comes in carrying bags of food. "It took me half an hour to drive all the way to McDonald's and back. You assholes better be happy that I brought you anything at all and didn't just take off." He throws the food on the table and I snatch one of the bags, tearing it open like a wild hyena.

"Pass me one of those Mcdoubles," Eugene speaks up, and he finally sets his phone down.

Iggy and I trade a nervous look. Eugene was dead and had risen from the grave. Or... actually, I had pulled him out, there was no way that he was hungry.

"What?" Eugene looks up at us, and then he sees the looks on our faces. "Why are you two dodos looking at me like that?"

"Eugene," I speak first, trying to sound levelheaded about all of this. "You can't eat because you're dead. They injected you with like, ten gallons of embalming fluid and put your organs into tiny sandwich bags. You shouldn't even be feeling hungry right now at all."

Eugene stands up abruptly and he knocks his chair back. "Give me that!" He snarls and rips one of the bags off the table. "You murder me, kidnap me from my own funeral, and then expect me to sit by while you two eat greasy shit-burgers in front of me? Fuck you, Brown!"

Iggy and I look on in horror as Eugene unwraps one of the little yellow burgers and proceeds to cram the whole thing into his mouth along with a dozen fries. It's like watching that kid eat an entire chocolate cake in Matilda. We can't stop him, he's crazy.

Eugene eats like he's been housed in the Marshalsea and fed nothing but bread and water. but after a moment, he stops. Just like that. His mouth is still packed with food, but he makes this wretching noise like he's going to be sick.

Oh God, oh God.

"He's going to blow!" Iggy shouts, and he runs for cover.

I realize something then.

This isn't a story about love, or finding life after death. This is the story of how the undead love of my life Mcchucks all over me and kicks off several long years of intense therapy sessions.

Eugene goes full exorcist on me and all the food that he's just eaten sloshes all over my black shirt, jeans, and Converse. It's not very colorful because it's Mcdonald's food, but it smells and it's hot.

When it's over, Eugene leans against the table and groans, holding his stomach. "Ugh..."

I stand there covered in his puke and try not to move, warm fluid seeping through my shirt. "I-I think I need to go shower..." I mumble, and I start for the stairs, shoes squelching as I walk.

"Darcy!" He calls up to me. "I'm sorry, bro."

The thing is, I'm sorry, too. I wonder if I had done the right thing by bringing him back to life, or if this was going to be the worst decision that I had ever made.