When you die, you become removed from things. Things like family and connectivity to those living meat puppets tied down by mortality. Things like sitcoms with a strong family dynamic become fascinating because you lose connection to the idea of family. When you die, you are alone.
I’ve been dead for five years. I continue in some form that is lifeless but filled with a vitality fueled by the desire to live, alone. Sometimes I have to commit acts of pure heinousness in order to keep my body from fading but on the outside, for the most part, I look just like man.
I walk amongst them sometimes and participate in their culture; working, drinking, singing, and going to the mall are some of my favorite pastimes. Not that I need to but I often enjoy an ice cream cone while using my preternatural senses to see, hear, feel, and sense, the people around me.
Their thoughts, fecund with this close intensity for each other, give me moments where I can actually think of myself as one of them. How good it feels to be connected to a general consciousness that feels emotions and life rather than simply remembers it.
What a horrid life this is for a creature such as me. I should have desire to use this new found power. This incredible ability to stay alive when I am injured in any way, so that I might fight on when a lesser one would die. I don’t remember how to die or if I can.
Today I am doing my daily human watching.
A little girl thinks “DISNEY STORE!”
An elder gentleman in a pin strip suit and blue dress shirt thinks, “I wonder if my other suit is in from Today’s Man; I sure do look like shit in these pinstripes.”
A dog thinks, “nothing.”
A mall policeman walks up to a woman in a mini-skirt and high heels and asks her to remove her chihuahua from the mall.
She begins an argument with him.
"My dog is much cleaner than most of these people," she says.
"Be that as it may, ma’am. These are the rules of the mall and I’m just doing my job to enforce them."
They drone on in there unpalatable palaver for 10 minutes before I can feel the intensity of the conversation leading to the point right before violence when all will go still.
Like the climax to a Verdi opera; hearing and feeling the reverberating tympani pounding at a rolling pace till the mall cop removes her from the premises and I follow her to the dumpster to steal her life.
What a horrid creature I am. Just to feel life for an instant till I am only fueled by it once again. Yet, I still smile at the momentary bliss and do not completely acquiesce my wrongs.
"What is it to be alive? I’ve forgotten the difference," I think as I quietly blend back into society and try to forget I’m not one of them.