Definitely Dead

Chapter 3

My doctor was an older man, white wisps of hair coming out of the sides of his head, the top bald. He had light blue eyes and deep set wrinkles on his forehead.

He asked me all of the questions that Adam did and more. He also took me into a room where I laid on a cold metal plank and they scanned me for internal bleeding.

After a few hours, he came back to tell me that everything came back fine. He said I could leave that night as long as I was feeling up to it. I had contusions covering my chest, and my right eyelid was a bright shade of magenta. "That'll blacken up," the doctor said with his old Southern accent. The kind you run into often here in Georgia. Apparently my nose was bleeding when they found me, but there was no signs of breaking.

"If I can go home I want to," I told my mom. A couple hours later and we were making our way to the car. I ached as I walked, but I was grateful to walk away without serious injuries.

Everyone kept telling me what a miracle it was that I lived. They told me how my car flipped across several lanes and was stopped by trees. The nurses and doctors came by to see me, wondering where my scars and broken bones were, and why I had none. My mom told me about how wrecked up my Cherokee was, and babbled about sharing her car until the insurance money came back.

It seemed wrong to me. How could my heart stop and I have no real injuries to show for it? Why weren't they locking me up and conducting scientific tests on me to figure out why my heart would stop?

As we walked through the halls I couldn't help but notice all of the patients walking about. I tried not to look at any of them.

"Mom," I whispered to her, "why are all these people out here in their hospital dresses?"

"What?"

"All these people! What are they doing?!" My eyes scanned around as I avoided looking into any of their eyes.

And then I recognized the similarities between them.

Like the girl at the edge of my bed earlier.

They all had a blueish hue to them, and all far too pale. They wandered around, and then I saw one go straight through a wall.

My heart started racing a million miles a minuet. I glued my eyes to my feet, determined not to look at them.

"What are you talking about?" My mother asked.

"Never mind," I said quickly. "Let's just go."

She was dead. They're all dead. Or they aren't real.

I blinked hard over and over before looking up again.

They were still there.

All different ages, shapes, sizes, and all definitely dead.

I passed a young girl, her skin covered in hives and her throat swollen. A man, bullet holes in his chest. An elderly woman walked hunched over and right through two nurses drinking coffee. Their skin was bright and flushed, so alive compared to the one who just passed through them.

I could see FREAKING dead people?!

I tried to quicken my pace and glued my eyes to my feet again.

Is this a bad dream? Did I actually die and End up in some freak hell?

Cold air rushed through the doors as we made our way to the parking lot. My lips felt dry and I longed for a hot shower and more sleep.

I searched franticly for more of the ghosts,  or that's what I decided they were.

I saw nothing but cars and the trees surrounding the parking lot, shaken bare by the winter breeze.

When we got to the car, Mom opened the door for me. "Let's get this heat going." She said, and cranked it up. "Should we stop for some food? Chic-fil-a?"

"No, thank you, I really just want to go home."

"Okay honey." She said, concerned.

I stared out of the window as we rode in silence. The town I grew up in wasn't very large. I was born in the hospital we were leaving, and we lived less than twenty minutes away. We passed a donut shop, and the only Thai restaurant for an hour. The orthodontist where I got braces my sophomore year of high school, and then the high school I graduated from.

I kept looking for the dead people, but we made it all the way home without seeing another.

My house was small, but perfect for my mom and I. My little brother, Daniel, lived with us too sometimes, but he was with my dad this weekend.

We painted the outside blue when I was in middle school. My dad built a deck in the back that was blue as well. I remembered him in the backyard with my grandfather, building away. I remembered making sweet tea with my mom and bringing it out to them.

My room was freshly painted after my dad moved out. A light grey shade with white furniture. A full day bed by the window, and a white bookshelf overfilled with teen romance and supernatural fiction. A small bathroom connected Daniel's room and mine. A shower on the left without a tub, and a toilet on the right. A small sink with a hanging mirror in the center of the room.

I stared at myself and grabbed a washcloth. I gently washed around my bruised eye, and scrubbed at the dried blood on my upper lip. Leftover mascara smeared under my eyes, and blended in with the dark circles.

My eye was blackening like the doctor said. It swelled around my light green iris, contrasting. I started the shower, my hair felt dirty and my skin felt like I walked through cobwebs and dust. The hot water revealed little cuts and scratches that I hadn't noticed before. The burn felt good in a way, like I was healing. I ran my fingernails through my hair over and over, determined to wash the accident away, and all the other weirdness that I didn't want to stop and think about.

I didn't bother to dress myself when I stepped out of the shower, just dried myself off and twisted my hair into the towel. Ashy brown strands still managed to find their way out and into my face, but I crawled immediately under the covers my bed and tried to drift off to sleep. My mom had come in while I was showering, and a bottle of pain medication sat on the dresser next to me.

I lacked the energy to uncover myself and take them, my eyes heavy and weighing down. I sunk further and deeper into my bed, black overcoming everything.