James.

II.

Three days had passed. He counted every sunrise and sunset, watched the moon rising from behind the horizon and the sun floating in the sky all day long. Three days. It seemed like three years. Maybe he miscounted it. He wasn't sure.

He figured out two things.

First - he was a ghost. Not literally, but yes. Just a soul. Just a piece of dust wandering around people, around real living creatures that didn't have to think of counting the days, of what to do while watching the sun, of what to do while watching the stars, of death.

Was this what death was? It sincerely wasn't what he imagined it to be.

Second - he was emotionless. Everything was taken away from him - his life, his family, his friends, and even his stupid emotions. He couldn't feel. Anything. Just an empty chest without a heart, without the well known pleasant warmth that he would do anything to feel again. It was so empty. Everything was empty.

His mind was blank. He couldn't force himself to think of anything, and so the days and nights spent in this place were even longer and more excruciating.

Something was taking him away. It was a very strong sense of some kind of bond that just couldn't be ruined. He couldn't figure it out. Everything was just too much, and so he didn't even try.

**

Two more sunsets. Five days. Each day felt longer than the one before, and he just had enough. What was it good for, sitting on an empty meadow waiting for the moon to show again?

And so he stood up and slowly made his way to the town. Days were long already and walking will just take away some of the endless time, plus he seriously didn't want to draw his energy for stupid flying or floating or whatever.

He just wanted to know where his body was. And his mom. Was she okay? Or was she somewhere in here with him? She was alive when he watched the scene from the barrier. She was seated and she definitely had many injuries and blood was running down her head, but otherwise she was alive.

Where else would they take them than to a hospital?

And how right he was. It took him - he thought - something around an hour or two to check every room until he finally found... wait. His own. This was his room. He slowly approached the mindless body, the only sign of it being alive was it's chest going up and down after every breath.

James couldn't even move. He counted every single time his lungs were filled with oxygen and his chest went up and down. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. And he could've continued for hours if the nurse wouldn't enter the room. She seemed to be in a hurry, and so she quickly approached the boy and gently checked his wounds.

And he felt every touch after touch.

She slowly peeled off the patch covering his right cheek and one ugly gash was revealed to James. Did he even wear a seatbelt? He doubted, but he just couldn't remember. He felt her gentle, careful touches on his cheek. How, that he didn't know.

"Well done," she whispered, more to herself than to the boy lying on the old hospital bed, fully covered in white sheets. She didn't forget to carefully check his respiration machine which was his only source of oxygen, infusions and every other tube that was established into his veins. Lastly, she prepared his medicine, and left him all alone again.

He sat on the bed next to the body - his body. This was so indescribable. He thought he was dead. But he... was not. He was here the entire time. He spent days trying to think of the way to get out of this world, how ro cross the barrier, when the reason he couldn't go was that he was actually supposed to stay. He needed to stay. Yes. It called his name every day, it wanted him to go, it wanted him to surrender. But he wasn't giving up now.

He isn't going anywhere.