The zombie's soul

Energy

The first time I ever tried heroine was when I was 14. The second time was when I was 15. 6 weeks later and I was addicted. 3 months later and a knock on the front door from two frozen looking police men, they raided my room whilst they handcuffed me to be searched. They found nothing. I said nothing, my parents knew nothing and society never suspected a thing.

I was safe.

That is, until spring, when they announced my death to the school. The same police men found my body stiff with cold and reeking of death, bunched up in an alleyway. The autopsy revealed my secret and I was covered in powder and foundation to hide my splotchy skin and open sores when they decided to bury me.
I don't remember how many people actually turned up at my funeral, but they keep saying that when you're a new floater you don't remember much. Some more time passed and I eventually came to grips with my new energy. The other floaters explained to me that I was more or less a ghost.

At least I wasn't in pain.

One of the things I do remember is visiting my dad. He didn't look like my dad, at first, which was odd. I remembered him as having shoulder length hair and always looking slightly unshaven, but in a way that suited him well. Now his hair was cut short and turning grey, whilst he sat glassy eyes and staring. I spoke to him for a bit, lazily hovering around him and his body which was stock still. Some of my energy grazed the forgotten teacup that rested on the bed next to him, and it stained the floral sheets.

He still didn't move.

I tried comforting him and telling him that I was ok, but no matter what I did, he never noticed a thing. He didn't notice when I put my arm through his head or when I used my energy to make his phone fall over.

He just sat there.

I became frustrated and tried to tell my mother, my sister, my grandma. I screamed to them that I was sorry. I tried grabbing hold of my mother's shaking body. I clutched nothing as my sister dragged a blade across her wrist. I banged my 'fists' against the white washed walls and scared the cat next door.

No one noticed anything.

One of the other floaters whispered in my ear, as I lay on top of my bed. They told me how everything would be ok and they'd join me soon enough. I wasn't sure whether to be glad about that.

More time passed and I started hanging round the graveyard, near my tombstone. There was a floater around my age who lay by their grave day, night and whatever the weather. Not that we could feel it or anything.

One dull day I felt a tug from inside of me. At first I dismissed it, but it became stronger and stronger until I lurched towards my grave as though I had strings attached from inside me. I was pulled underneath the ground, and despite my best efforts of clinging onto it, I only managed to unearth a small daisy.

I screamed again for my mum or my dad or my sister or grandma. Or anyone!

No one heard me.

Except for me. My body. My old drug ruined body.

And, boy, was he unhappy with me.