Dead

You know how in the movies people who die always say things like; “I can't see you.”, “hold me.” or “I’m cold.” or something to that effect. Well death isn’t like that, you can see, feel and hear everything that’s going on around you, you don’t feel fear or any emotion, death strips you of all emotions. The only part they ever get right in the movies is the “I’m cold.” bit, and by the time you feel cold you can't say that you’re cold. Unless you’re like me, which I highly doubt. I suppose by now you’re wondering how I know all this, the simple answer is, I’m dead.
Yes you heard correct, I am clinically dead, I have the certificate to prove it. No I’m not a vampire or a zombie or anything like that simply dead. But for some unknown reason when I died I didn't die. If that makes sense, which I suppose it doesn't.
Ok how to explain this, perhaps if I tell you the story of how I died.
The year was 1794, mid way through the French Revolution. I was a young man serving in the Catholic and Royal Army, which was made up of a group aristocracy and peasants alike, who had been content with their upper classes and their religion. The battle that I died in is now grouped with other battles of the time, together they are called ‘Wars of the Vendee’ back then we just called all battles hell.
I was fighting side by side with my best friend, we knew there was no hope for us, we knew the battle was lost but still we fought.
I remember my friend was surrounded, after dispatching an enemy I rushed to help him, only to be shot. I was shot in the chest, I felt the bullet pierce my heart, I felt my heart stop beating, I could hear the battle raging around me and I could feel someone take hold of my hand and press something into it. I heard a voice I knew well, the voice of my best friend the man I had tried to save, I will never forget what he said to me; “Live my friend,” he said. “Live to see the end of this cursed war, live to see your children grow old. Live and remember me always, look after my family.” I remember nothing after that, I felt the world grow distant and darkness close in, a chill settled in my bones.
When I awoke it was three days after the battle, I had been buried along with the other fallen soldiers, I opened my mouth to yell for help only to have it fill with dirt, choking I clawed my way out of the shallow grave I had been laid in. sucking in a lung full of air I tried to recall what had happened. It was then that I remembered what my friend had said and done, I looked around trying to find what it was that he had placed in my hand only to find it around my neck.
It was small pendent, an Ankh, the Egyptian symbol for life. It was made of smooth wood and was strung on a piece of leather cord. I had seen him wearing it, he never took it off, he always said it was his good luck charm.
Covered in dirt and blood, I made my way back to the campsite, thankfully they had buried me with my clothes on, not something that was usually done.
When I arrived at the camp site I was met with cries of alarm, I heard people whisper, the words ghost and demon. And I knew I had made a mistake in returning to the campsite. The men who had once trusted their lives to me and I mine to them, turned against me saying that I was some sort of demon or devil come to lead them astray or a ghost bring them bad luck. They tried to kill me, and failed, I wish they had succeded.
I ran from the campsite, only stopping when I realised that my family would have been informed of my death so I could not go home to them, instead I watched them and my friends family from a distance. I saw my children grow up, I interfered when I felt I was needed, and did all I could to hide my identity from them.
Over the years I have seen my children, and the children of my friend, grow up, have children of their own and die, I have seen their children grow up and have children, and their children and so on.
Eventually I realised I couldn't keep watching my distant family, so I decided to travel. I travelled the world, made new friends, became a rich man, but I never fell in love and I never dared to let myself become attached to someone, I knew it would only cause me, and them, pain in the end.
As medicine moved forward I dared to reveal my secrete to a few people, hoping they would find out why I was like this, but no one ever has.
I have even tried to end my own life, but every time I die I simply come back.
I hope that sort of explains things. But just to make sure I’ve covered everything lets recap; 1) I’m technically dead, 2) I am two hundred and thirty eight years old and should have died two hundred and sixteen years ago, 3) I am not a vampire, zombie, ghost or anything like that, 4) I am yet to find out why I am like this, oh and most importantly, 5) I CAN”T DIE!!!!
I know what you’re thinking, ‘that would be great, being able to live for an indefinite amount of time.’ but let me tell you living for eternity isn't all its cracked up to be, especially when there is no one you an live it with.
It gets extremely lonely, I am constantly the outsider, the freak. Why? You may ask. Well apart from the fact that I am the breathing, walking, talking, living, dead. To put it plainly, my appearance. I’m about six-foot-two, athletic build short hair that I wear in jagged fringe that covers my eyes. ‘That doesn’t sound so bad’ you say, here's the bad part, the part that separates me from basically everyone else on this planet. I have almost no colour, my skin is so white that if you held me up in front of the sun I'd quite possible be translucent, my hair has the faintest tinge of blonde to it and my eyes are the faint shadow of blue. And if that isn't enough even my blood has no colour, my blood is as clear as water. Is that freaky enough for you.
It wasn't this bad when I first...changed, yes lets call it that. When I first changed I still had all my regular colour, but as the years went by I started to notice that I was getting paler and that my hair was going from brown-blonde to white and that even the colour of my eyes was fading. When it was almost at the point it is today I began to use hair die, spray on tan and contact lenses to try and make myself look normal, in an attempt to fit in.
Being rich I attracted the company of many women and just as many men. But it never felt right, it didn't feel real. I wanted to have something with someone, like I'd had with my wife before I changed. I wanted to feel normal, I wanted someone I could tell everything to, that would just accept me for what I was and who, I hoped, would be content to spend the rest of their life with me.
I tried for a few years, I revealed myself to a few people who I thought could have been the one, and I was always met with the same reaction, normally cries of; ’Vampire.’, ’Demon.’, ’Devil.’, ’you’re a Psycho.’ or sometimes just; ’ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’. Usually this was followed by; ’I have garlic and I’m not afraid to use it.’, ’I am protected by my faith.’, ’Lord protect me.’ ’I didn't realise I was dating someone who escaped from the mental asylum, I’m calling the police.’ or just more ’ARGH!!!!!!’
It gets tiering after a few years. Eventually I just resigned myself to the fact that I would be forever alone.
I locked myself away from the world. When I did dare to venture out in public I could feel people watching me, I had stopped using dies, spray tans and contacts to over up my lack of colour.
I could hear people whispering about me, talking to their friends about how much of a freak I was. I never stayed in one place to long, preferring to move constantly rather then put up with the way I was treated, with the whispers, the fear and the alienation.
I always dream of my old friend, the one I hold responsible for my current condition. It was through my dreams I spoke to him about many things, reminisce about times past and all the fun we used to have as kids. It was during one such dream that my friend reminded me of something.
“I told you to live, my friend.” He said to me.
“I am living, in a manner of speaking.” I replied. He smiled at my poor attempt of a joke and looked at with sadness in his eyes.
“This is not living. This is dying. You are caught, my friend, in a state of limbo, unable to die, yet unwilling to live.”
“what would you have me do? You do not know the pain I feel everyday, I know that if I get close to someone that they will be ripped away from me, yet I long for that contact again. It pains me to see a young couple walking hand in hand, for I know how quickly they can be taken from one another. I can no longer see life and joy, only death and sadness.” I replied heatedly. I was angry, my friend had touched a nerve.
“then you must find someone who can see life and happiness, some one that can teach you how to live again, my friend.” he told me, smiling softly he touched the Ankh at my neck and then vanished.
When I awoke the next morning I thought upon the conversation I had held with my friend in my sleep, pondering what he had meant when he said I needed to find someone to teach me how to live.
Months passed, I moved towns again, this time taking up residence in an old mansion about ten minutes walk from a small country town, much like my home town in France.
It was on a warm, sunny day, early in spring when the unexpected happened. I had been in this town long enough that people were talking, mothers hiding their children behind them as I walked past, telling them not to go near me. I knew it wouldn't be long before I would have to move again.
I was walking in the park around ten o’clock in the morning, minding my own business, comparing this town to my home town in France, when a group of young men approached me and blocked my path. Before they had even opened their mouths I knew what was coming, and I prepared myself for a fight. It started as most fights do for me, they called me names, told me how they didn't want me in their town, and when I showed no reaction, they started swinging.
Now let me tell you that you don't live for two hundred and thirty eight years with out learning how to fight, but even then you can’t fight five or so men, in their prime, at once. Two yes, three maybe but beyond that and you’re in trouble.
I was ready to have my butt handed to me but someone else stepped in and fought side by side with me. I was confused as to why someone was defending me but I wasn't going to question it, at least not right then. Together my rescuer and I sent the men packing and then he, for now I could see it was a man, did something even more unexpected, he gave a speech to the crowd, I an still hear it now.
“Everybody listen up. I have something to say, and you aren't going to like it but that’s just tough. I would like to take the opportunity to say that I am absolutely ashamed of you. I’ve known most of you all my life and I have never been more ashamed to call myself your friend.
I can't even bring myself to call you human beings anymore, not after the way you have treated this man. He has never done anything to any of you. And yet you treat him like a criminal, you whisper about him behind his back, you hide your children when he walks past, you call him names, push him, kick at him, treat him as if he is no better then a stray dog under your feet.
You have no respect for a man who has shown nothing but kindness towards you.
His only crime is to be different, to embrace who he is, and that dear people is no crime at all in my books, but a virtue, a blessing.
Our ancestors and the founding fathers of this peaceful village would turn in their graves if the knew how you were treating this man. A man who is peaceful, loves and worships life, the symbol he wears around his neck tells us that much.
So I say to you all go home, leave this man alone and think, think hard about what has happened here, not only on this day but all days. Think on your unkindness towards this man, and know that I am ashamed and disgusted with you all.”
With that the young man turned to me and smiled, he took hold of my arm and steered me away from the crowd. When we were far enough away to not be heard he slowed his pace so we were strolling comfortably side by side.
He introduced himself as Arran. He was striking, he was almost the same height as me, he had a lithe, muscular build, fair skin, hair as black as pitch, styled very much the same as mine, and he had twin lip piercings, I believe they’re called snake bites, but was his eyes that caught my attention, lined with black pencil so they stood out even more, his eyes were the deepest shade of green I had ever seen, and I had seen plenty of green eyes in my time.
Arran and I spent the rest of the day talking, he had no problem accepting my appearance and he seemed to enjoy spending time with me. For the first time since my change I felt welcome, I felt as though I was wanted.
The people of the town made a formal apology to me for the way they had behaved, it appeared as though Arran's speech got to them. Because of this I decided to extend my stay in the town, I bought the mansion outright and Arran helped me to furnish it.
I spent a lot of time with Arran, a month after we met we began dating, and after a year I told Arran my secrete. His reaction was, by far the most pleasing and most interesting, it was nothing more then; ’Ah. Well that explains the lack of colour and the odd muttering about the French revolution when you’re sleeping.’ followed by a kiss and then he went back to reading his book.
A year ago Arran and I celebrated our marriage. And I’m pleased to say that everyone in the town was at the wedding and they all support us a hundred percent, they’re like family to me now.
i have finally found my home.