OG Short Stories (BL/H/GL) & Food 4 Thought [ONGOING]

Don't Hug Me, I'm Dead

(((credits to the show "Don't Hug Me, I'm Scared" title for inspiration.)))

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"You never treasure the true definition of life, until it is all taken away from you."

Those weightless words hung in the air, in place of where he was standing. He left 2 days ago, but his red eyes still remained in front of me; his kiss still stung my arm, his touch aching my hips.

I laid there, motionless. "Maybe pretending to be dead will help me pass faster." I thought aloud, my words bouncing off the empty white room, penetrating back into my skull. My ears began a small ring from the vibrant silence surrounding me. The walls were lined with children's drawings, "Get Well Soon" cards, and left over scraps of optimism. Reminders that everyone that came in sick, went out well. "Huh, that's no fair." I laughed to myself, being cut off by my hacking cough. I swallowed even more blood this time... how much of it do I even have left? Gosh, it felt like poison falling down my throat, sinking into my spoiled stomach. I don't want to feel the pain of the left-over, I gagged at the feeling.

I looked up merely observing the blue curtain surrounding me. It made a soft rustling noise, picking dust off the ground. I didn't need to look down to know it draped over my gift basket. A yellow woven one, with one small rose on the handle. "Everything you need is in there. Give me a call if you need anything else." He was so kind to me, his family treating me as their daughter. Why?

I coughed again, blood getting to my nose. It smelled so inhumane, something I wish I was... maybe they'd kill me faster, take me for a rabid animal... shoot my head, than try and fix a shattered vase with tape.

Though my arm screamed in pain, I reached over to grab a tissue by my white bed. I blew weakly into the tissue, not because I was tired, just because I didn't feel like using force. I unfolded the tissue into a square, admiring it like an art exhibit.

Art exhibits were so dumb actually: having some random person off the street be able to sell a twisted piece of string as something extraordinary. Art, in general, was slowly starting to lose meaning. Someone could continuously fall down a staircase, or paddle in a canoe... it was so useless in the end: art became a stunt, not a craft. I examined what was on the tissue, wondering what an artist could call this. My snot mixed with the blood in a strangely beautiful way, my lips cracked as I smiled at my exhibit. With the same smile, I placed it face up, right by my bruised leg. I put both of my hands behind my head, relaxing as a regular, as though on the beach, staring at the sun.

"They are so stupid." I once again spoke aloud to myself. "They think I'm only infected with a bite; they don't know that I was the one that forced it. After just one bite, I kept going, the pain felt good, finally giving me a memory I could remember." The world was so... cruel, giving me nothing but light and happiness. They say God treats you as what you deserve. God is a lie, giving me an unexitable life. If God loved, then he would kill. God would do the world a favor and let me leave. God sees a good person, when I've done nothing but sin. I've strayed from God's path... I deserve punishment.

My mind went silent just then.

The silent room turned into a loud buzz. I could hear my own breath, the soft beeping of the machine, the AC unit dripping water. My mind went into static, my vision turning shades of pink and red, pulsating louder than my draining heart. There were voices outside, I don't know why I haven't heard them before... but they were outside: angry, sad, anxious... they were far away, but they sounded so near, as though sitting right next to me. I heard Chris's voice. He was speaking with my dad.

"Sorry for arrivin' late, how's my girl doin'?"

"She's doing ok, I-I'm sure she'll be better by tomorrow." he sniffled his nose. "I got a bit emotional thinking about her, knowing how much she is struggling." He forced a laugh, my dad joining along. "I know my Angelica; she'll get better son." My dad clapped him on the back. The sound resonated on my back, echoing in my mind. There was a thick silence, before Chris spoke again "H-how is her mom?"

"She is... she is still ta' same. Police 'n doctors deem her still unsafe... I visited her about two days ago now." His voice trailed off as he fell silent.

Only natural to talk about a devil in the presence of a demon right?. However to name a demon after an angel's name... that is unapologetically disgusting. That constant reminder, that I'm unholy, the worn out blister in my head, that I was named in light; nothing can be worse than that. I heard Chris' voice again, it wasn't a beautiful or attractive voice, so why had I come to like him? He spoke with the same tone as a homeless rat would, he wore clothes that didn't match his physique, the most awful of it was that he was always smiling like a madman. He was always shining a light at my black presence. "Sorry if that was a sensitive topic, Mr. Lee." My dad gave a short deep chuckle. "Oh no, don' worry son, 's not as bad as it used to be." My dad sighed, hearing the bench squeak as he sat down. "Say, this outfit, you going somewhe' later?"

"Oh no, I just thought I'd dress up a bit for Angelica."

"Well, you are a handsome gentleman, 'n excellent partner. Dare I say... you dress oh so well." he chuckled. "I try, Mr. Lee, thank you... I do everything for her." He laughed softly.

LIAR, you don't care for me! You don't care enough to dress up, you do it for yourself and self ONLY! I am only in your life because your parents took me in. I don't care what you wear, you will always be a burden to your mom, always be a mistake to your dad! You think I never heard them talk about you? They say it to themselves, forcing themselves to see you as equal!

I heard these voices in my head get a mind of their own, rambling, yelling, screaming, whispering to me, all at once... begging for my attention. The thoughts turned to memories, the memories turned to reality; my brain getting fuzzy, drifting into a different world.

I stopped breathing.

The voices stopped screaming.

I felt my body drift through a jelatic substance - all my pores sensitive to even the smallest breeze.

Then

It

All

Went

Black.

I woke up, completely painless. The first thing I saw was Chris. He was looking at me with swollen red eyes. I smiled at him, despite my internalized anger, I really did smile.

But... he didn't smile back.

I reached out to touch his face, he twitched as though feeling a spider crawl on him. I tried again, but he slapped himself.

"What's the matter?" I asked. He stayed silent. "Hello?... Chris... Can't you hear me?" I sat up, my head didn't spin, I felt fine. He stared numbly behind me. I looked in his direction. I was still laying down. "Oh." I said, almost to myself. "That's why you can't hear me." I watched him as a tear rolled down his cheek, still sitting in shell shock.

How long was I gone for? 2 minutes? 2 weeks? 2 years?

He leaned and hugged my corpse. He put my arms around himself, drenching my robe with his eyes. "Chris... Chris don't hug me."

He vaguely looked in my spirit's direction. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't know abou-out your mother. A-and now you-re gone..." His breath hitched as he cried, my blue robe starting to drip. I patted his hair, though he swatted my hand away like an insect. "Don't hug me". I whispered in his ear. "Don't hug me...I'm dead."