I mean, stories are meant to be told yes?
So, I wouldn't agree if someone ask me to throw a random story at each other. Precisely why I think I should summarise it up because if I have to write it down here, it would be an ass long post.
So here's how it started:
It was dark. And of course, by dark, I mean night. And I may mean there's a trickle of light punctuating the room, yes a room, with little windows at the right side of the room. Quite large room, I may say, with a king-sized bed and, oh, a wardrobe in front of it, and a simple make-up desk besides the said wardrobe. It was large, the desk, fitted with also with a large mirror. Now, imagine a person on the said bed, lying down, looking up at the ceiling.
Now, imagine said person is dead. Yes, dead. No bleeding, no poison, no ropes, no suicide lines, or leftover notes, not even clothing. Yes, that person is naked as in not a single line of cloth on the person's body.
I wouldn't tell the gender of the person, but from now on we will call it "Sam." Because mainly, Sam is such a simple name and it implies that the person, Sam, would be both genders, as in there are some people called Sam, and it may be a she or a he, who knows?
Anyways, now imagine a clock ticking. Yes, ticking. Out of nowhere, the sound just rings inside the halls, the walls, the carpet, and the ceiling above. That clock will soon struck 12. 12 midnight, of course. Very soon as in about 10 seconds.
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
And DONG.
And then Sam woke up. How did Sam woke up? Simple, he/she just straightened up and stretched. Sam scratches his naked butt, his naked back, and his naked head. Mind you, dead people do not have hair. As Sam scratches his/her whole body, he/she made his way to the wardrobe, opened it, and made a choice every undead would do. He would choose his suit, a tie, and a long overcoat. Sure, Sam can't feel the heat or the cold, but it would be quite rude to walk naked around with someone seeing your privateer.
So, Sam made his way to the desk, sees him/herself in the mirror, smiled and walked out of the house with a single tune on his/her broken lips. As he made his way out, he made plans for the night. The bar, particularly, drink something even thought it will evaporate in seconds inside Sam's body, then the park, take a walk around, see things. Then, maybe go shopping, or window shopping as Sam do not have a working brain nor a feeling of greediness. Dead people seldom need many things.
So, he made his night a wonderful one, with people around him/her trying to see if he/she is actually alive and not a walking corpse. Well, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. This time, it did.
So, he came across two people mugging a poor little man. Sure, undead do not have a sense of pride or satisfaction but Sam was particularly insulted when said muggers tried to mug him too. So he kicked both of the mugger's back with a limb unattached to anything. Then, he threw a leg at them when they freaked out and ran away. So's the poor little men, terrified of Sam. He/She picked up all the limbs and attached them back. He will need to sew them back together.
So, every night Sam does this. He doesn't even care what he lives or rather, half alive, anymore because Sam have gave up trying to find a meaning. So, everytime the clock struck 12, he would wake up, get dressed, smile to himself, and made plans for the day.
What was really wondering though was Sam did not quite believe that some people, pretty much alive, was exactly like him.
Dead. But not dead. Sam didn't even think of that anymore.
All Sam wanted to do was be dead and alive at the same time.
And that, people, is how you die inside. But not outside.
Live life with excitement, with expectations, and be miserable about it because why, because Sam thinks he/she is alive enough to go shopping for a pair of new boots. Mayhaps, that Sam didn't quite die much at all....
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