It happened faster than falling asleep. One moment he was laughing and joking with his friends, the next he opened his eyes to the dark heavy lid of a coffin. Now he didn't know that at first, but it became quite clear when he bashed his head against the lid, trying to sit up, noticed he couldn't see his own feet and was clothed in a dark blue suit that he didn't own before.
That experience in and of itself should have been traumatic, but he was still too busy with the fact that his parents had chosen to clothe him in a suit of all things. His boyfriend would have hated it, his sister would have too.
As he let his mind wander back to the situation at hand, he found himself surprised at his lack of freaking out. As if some small part of his mind had long since accepted that waking up in a coffin was perfectly natural.
Slowly he brought a hesitant hand up to his chest, and let it rest there. No heartbeat, no rise and fall of his chest, and he became acutely aware of his lack of breathing and took a big shuddering gulp. The air whizzed in, and then back out. Nothing, no need, no relief, nothing but the dry taste of stale air. His hand rose up to his neck, and he pressed two cold fingers to his throat. Again, no heartbeat.
He sighed, and let his head rest back on the small satin pillow. What now, was the obvious question following his little experiment. He wasn't alive, so it hadn't been a false diagnosis.
He'd read enough zombie comics when he was younger to know that he probably wasn't a zombie or a vampire for that matter. He didn't particularly hunger for either brains or blood. A small thought flickered through his mind, that whispered one word. Ghost.
He knew that it was absolutely ridiculous to be entertaining such thoughts, but it was also absolutely ridiculous and, not to mention, impossible to wake up in your own coffin. Then again, he also knew that his boyfriend was a paranormal fanatic, and he'd seen his material often enough. He shuddered as he remembered the long nights sitting in a circle trying to recreate a seance or a summoning. Or the visits to the supposedly haunted houses on the edge of town, that were just rat-infested. Some of those books had been far too detailed to be complete and utter bullshit.
Okay, ghost, then. What could a ghost do that would help out in his situation. Go through stuff, okay, yes that would be pretty great right now. And fly, if he was six feet under than he would need to float those six feet back up, all the while trying to stay, what was the word his boyfriend used, intangible?
He almost laughed with the foolishness of it all, but closed his eyes nonetheless and imagined. What if he really could do it?
When he felt the warmth of the last dying rays of sunlight on his skin and when he saw the soft oranges fluttering through his eyelids, he knew he was properly screwed.
The term ghost didn't sound so far fetched anymore.
YOU ARE READING
faster than falling asleep
Misterio / Suspenso"The air whizzed in, and then back out. Nothing, no need, no relief, nothing but the dry taste of stale air. His hand rose up to his neck, and he pressed two cold fingers to his throat. Again, no heartbeat. The term ghost didn't sound so far fetched...
