Unstoppable

The Sixteenth

How have I never noticed anything suspicious?
I sat in the front room, lights on, TV blaring away, letting the blue light wash over me. The presenter seemed to be having a worse time than me: some sort of storm was starting to surge around her. Trees whipped and smashed into the ground, debris decided to start flying around, and a car was turned over behind her, causing her to scream, and the screen to show 'Technical Difficulties'.
Wow. She's probably dead. And I feel nothing for her. I wish I was dead. I really do. I can't die now though... I'm practically immortal. What a wonderful feeling.
Reaching for the remote, I flicked the channel over, and felt the sudden surprise of sleep hit my eyes. A wave of tiredness crashed over me as I suddenly curled up on the sofa, one hand under my arm and another still clutching the remote.
Wow. What the fuck..?
My eyes closed to the sound of some lady going on about face removal products:
"All of your problems will go away!"

"Adam! You've gotta wake up! It's time to go!"
My eyes snapped open, and I rolled off the sofa and leaped up, my father's voice still lingering in my brain.
Where is he?
"Adam? What's wrong?" I could hear him. It sounded as if it came from the kitchen, the sweet sensation of longing but my body, and I started to make for the kitchen, not worrying about anything else. Turning the corner into it, I found the place completely empty and desolate. The dishes I did sat, cleaned, on the side, dry. The kitchen looked as clean as yesterday. Everything was normal.
"Jesus, Adam. I'm going to be late at this rate!" My father shouted at me from an unknown place.
Nothing's changed... I'm still not good enough, clearly.
"Dad? Where are you?" I questioned, heading up the stairs. The voice seemed to get stronger as I walked forwards into my room. Nothing in here either.
"I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore!!" I heard him shout.
There's only one place left.
The door to my parents' bedroom was closed. As I edged it open, the voices grew louder and closer.
No way! This is... this is fucking crazy... maybe the 'coming back to life' thing is genetic?
"Heck, I don't think we can anymore! We have a son now.." My father seemed to be arguing with someone, as his voice was laced with anxiousness and anger. "We can't put him in danger. This programme isn't going to work!"
"We can't throw the research away now." A voice, completely scrambled and accent-less replied with a monotone voice and interest. "It's in the best of out interest that we continue with the project-"
"I can't." My father replied hastily. "Please..." The name seemed to fade and become indecisive. "I can't. My son needs to be safe. I have to be around to see him grow. To watch him go to school. To meet his girl. To become a grandfather. I have to see this all!"
The other voice was silent for a moment.
"You've been good to us." It said after a while. "We shall reward you. You will get a monthly payment of money. It is up to you what you do with it. This should make sure you live comfortably for the rest of your life. It should also supplement your son. You've already signed the Secret Service Act, so if you tell anyone what happened, you'll either be jailed, locked in an asylum, or killed. It's as simple as that." The voice told him. "If that's all, I shall be leaving. Lots of important work to do." I felt the voice come to the door, and I thought about the shit I'd get into if my dad knew I'd heard this. I darted around the corner, and shut the door behind me, blocking out whatever was out there. A shadow passed, completely bland and unrecognisable, before disappearing again. I opened the door, fully opened my parents' bedroom, and was greeted with nothing.
Your hearing things. Focus Adam. You can work this out. One day at a time.

My fathers words...
Shaking my head, I focused myself back into reality. It was Sunday, which meant I had to go back... there. If I didn't go, I'm sure they'd just send someone over. They clearly know where I live now, since Callum brought me home.
That's a fucking scary thought. They could come in and kill me, at any point and any time? It doesn't matter, since I can't fucking die. They won't let me die anyway. I'll just get up and get beat down, over and over again, until I just don't move and rot away.
That's a depressing thought.
The time on my phone told me it was 14:50, ten minutes till 3 o'clock. I had no idea what I was gonna do: I had no friends at school, no family to talk to, and no one to rely on for fun but myself. I sighed, letting the silence I was so incredibly used to claim it's place around me, quietly mocking me.
What the fuck did my father do for work..?

I ate some sort of pot noodle meal for lunch, and watched more TV. Honestly, it took up most of my time, this and studying. I got top marks, but felt so lonely, all the time. I haven't hugged anyone for so long, I haven't said 'I love you' to anyone for so long. I haven't even looked into someone's eyes for so long.
God, I'm fucked up.
The time hit four o'clock before I realised I wasn't ready for school. I got up, sorted a fresh set of uniform, ironed the shirt and trousers, hung them up, and packed my bag before returning downstairs. The sound of the television drowned out everything around me as my eyes closed again, and I fell asleep, repeating the exact same programme as I always have.