I shouldn’t have gone.
It’s that simple, really.
I should’ve just stayed home, stood up Jennifer FUCKING Check.
Have you ever seen nightmares come alive? I have.
Had.
And then, I died.
Mostly.
You hear a lot when you’re undead, y’know. The EMTs said I looked like lasagna with teeth. They made my mother ID me. They actually made her ID me, missing chest cavity and all.
How do I know that?
I was awake. And I was starving.
Just like when you’re alive, you only get so far before you devour everything in sight. My case?
A pretty, blonde mortician, but only after she had grafted my chest closed. I was sluggish at best, but she still didn’t get too far. There’s nothing like the satisfying crunch of bone when you’re famished, as disgusting as that is.
The body they cried over?
Not mine.
I almost felt guilty throwing her in that casket, but I had to get out. There was no way I was going to be buried. I was whatever the fuck JFC was, but I wasn’t gonna go down easy.
No, I needed to make sure that Ne- Anita. I needed to make sure that Anita was okay.
Luckily, they had to clothe me to put me in the casket. Church clothes weren’t my first choice in threads, hadn’t been since seventh grade, but beggars can’t be choosers. Especially beggars that were technically dead.