The picture boy

Chapter 1

A small preview of a novel I'm writing. Wattpad won't let me make things bold and change their position on the screen like docs does but you get a good idea. Open to any feedback. Please have a look and give me any advice or criticisms you may have.

January 13 2001

A cold Wednesday

8:32 AM

The day I died

That probably shocks you. Or perhaps not. Since my death I have not understood the living as well as I used to, or think I used to. You see death is a weird feeling. Most would assume it's frightening or cold and painful. Sure, I jumped a little. But I wouldn't call it scary. Anything but.

I don't remember my death

From what I saw when it was over I could guess how it happened - A tree, a lake, a stump, a rope with a loop on the end, and hanging through it - what I assumed was me. I doubt I need to say much more but I will continue, I feel it important to recap how it happened.

Any person may say a body looks lifeless and horrific; pale and depressed; ghostly and paranormal; the sight of one like a dagger through your heart that sends a chill through your spine. In contrast, I honestly think it looks simply limp and sleeping, peaceful in a way. Of course the stench and dead look in the eyes give it away. The eyes give everything away. The eyes are said to be the gateway to someone's soul - the doorway to their heart. My eyes were white as snow like two snowglobes, shaken furiously then left to hang there. Red veins crept up from the bottom like vines up a dead birch. A terrifying, pale sight to behold. My soul had escaped through my eyes, flooding out through them like they were broken dams - allowing the soul to just freely flow, rapidly and forcefully outwards into a waterfall of memories and thoughts.

Most of my memories escaped me.

One memory that stayed

My eyes were as blue as the ocean

It seems odd to remember that. Though it seems important having called the eyes a window to the soul, connecting them to the ocean seems unusual. Why the ocean? Perhaps I had been calm and peaceful or angry and loud. Large and daunting or open and welcoming. Like me, the ocean could be many things.

My eyes were dead and lolling outward slightly like a child clinging a tree as they lean outward playfully singing. But as the deceased, cold, empty vessel swayed peacefully in the wind, just another leaf in the breeze, My hair was alive. It flowed backward magnificently in the wind. It was a fire of browns and yellows. A golden blonde - short and cut well. I had recently had it trimmed. It was natural too. No roots. And it just looked so real and elegant, I wanted to reach out and stroke my hand through the fantastic locks. I didn't. I had no hand. I had no body

My new body

When my old vessel decayed from a lack of air (cut off my the noose) my soul must have reached for a nearby vessel. Something else to carry me; to hold on to me; to provide for me; to endure for me; to live for me. A soul cannot survive more than a second alone. It quickly evaporates into nothing. Just a memory. I do not know why I know this. Common sense perhaps? What I did know was my new vessel was special.

A picture

Printed on plain paper

Just a picture

Of me

Of my family

Of us

My vessel.

As I said. I was lucky. The photo had been resting nearby my body against the same tree I had hung the noose from. It lay softly, perfectly and carefully placed. Sheltered from the breeze. It gave a perfect view of the body as it swayed ominously above. The light was behind me so I could see it clearly tower above me. The best way to describe it was like a slab of meat.

A butcher's shop somewhere

The butcher is busy working at the back

Cutting and preparing meat for sale

At the front many slabs of meat are being presented neatly

Chicken. Pork. Beef. All prepared differently

A large steak hangs above the rest, clearly displayed in the shop window

The odour fills the air and entices customers

It begs them to come closer

They do

Though a slab of meat seems the perfect analogy, it is not. Nothing is perfect. There is always a key difference.

A key difference

No one wants to find a body

Some people may be disgusted by a large slab of meat, blood red - A vegan perhaps would argue it is murder. Any number of animal rights activists would protest proudly and strongly "Meat is murder! Do not kill animals! You are cannibals! Stop this at once!" While they wave their signs with captivating captions and colourful designs drawn in felt tip, people would walk past. Avoiding eye contact as they fantasise of a large piece of cod to go with their chips and peas. No one dreams of a dead body. At least no one sane, that is. No one sane would standby as dead bodies hung from shop windows, proudly on display. No one sane would find a dead body and exclaim "Oh my what a succulent piece of meat. This will go wonderfully with our christmas dinner! Barbara thought there'd be none left, well I showed her. Tremendous! I'll take it for twelve pounds please!"

To which the butcher replies "Of course. I will cut it with my finest cleaver"

Someone's reaction to a body is much more bloodcurdling.

Your heart skips a beat.

Like only now that you found the body has the life left it. Though it's been dead for days.

PC Hett had a much different reaction. He was a stern and stubborn man when I saw him. He walked into the clearing with a face of steel. He wore a hat that left his face in a shadow. His stride was with purpose. But no passion. Goal without ambition. Need without want. His eyes showed no emotion as they lay upon the hanging slab of meat. It was no more to him than that. Another empty carcass. He'd seen others. But those eyes revealed so much about him. His pupils were emotionless, unstirred by most. It hid a great storm around its rim - the white planes of dormant anger. But the eye of the storm showed no signs of change, indifferent to the horrid smell that stuck in his nostrils. Brown. A gentle colour. A calm colour. But hints of green. A green that was deep and passionate. But almost unnoticeable unless you're the right person.