An Undead Boy

Danielle and I are sitting in a field somewhere. I don't really recognise where we are but I'm happy to just be outside with her, the sun beating down on our backs. My cool skin tingles as a breeze flutters the grass and I look across at Danielle sleepily, the first time I have felt peaceful in a long while. I can see every freckle on her face and her hair is down, closer to rich honey than her custom silver in the sunlight. I want to reach out and twine my fingers through it but I don't.

Instead, I lie back and fold my arms up behind my head, peeking through my lashes to watch Danielle do the same. I would stare at her all day, if she let me. She's not as pale as she usually is, perhaps the sun has tanned her a little? Her cheeks are flushed with pink, too. Whatever the cause, it suits her. The light has thrown her into high definition. It doesn't just reflect from her eyes, it inhabits them. I can see colours in them that I've never seen before; emerald green and flecks of gold. Everything about her is vibrant.

"This is nice, isn't it?" she asks in a lilting tone.

I hum in agreement, stretching my neck out to catch the sun on my face.

"Charlie? Didn't you hear me? I asked if this is nice." Danielle says, irritated.

I try and hum again but this time, it's drawn out and the sound morphs in my throat, becoming deeper and unpleasant. It disturbs me and I look at Danielle, wanting to tell her that something isn't quite right.

Her face is drained of all colour and she's looking at me in a way that makes my stomach drop and my insides squirm. Time has slowed down and all I'm left with - all I know - is the knowledge that Danielle looks like she has seen something that scares her to death. And she's staring right at me.

I lean up on my elbows, moving my hand to comfort her, or to show her that there is nothing to be afraid of but even as I do, Danielle kicks out and crawls backwards, scrabbling to get away from me. My hand is left in the air, hooked and grasping for her. The sight of that hand clawing hopelessly at nothing repulses me.

Hastily, I drop it and push myself up onto my feet, tripping a little as I step towards her. She's clambering over herself, her limbs twisting up so that she continuously hits the floor again and again, until her chin is stained with green from the grass and her hands and knees are smeared with mud. No matter how hard she is trying to escape, her body just won't cooperate. She's a physical wreck.

My gait, already clumsy and unstable, has worsened as I make my way towards her. My feet drag with every step and my shoulders roll, each movement is hindered by stiffened muscle and joints. Instinctively, I breathe quicker, almost hyperventilating, alarmed by what is happening to me. Danielle is still on the ground, her face screwed up as she sobs uncontrollably with her hands curled around her face, shielding herself from me. I can see the dirt in her nails. Blood has wound it's way through every crease of her skin on her hands, like an abominable spiders web. She must have cut herself in the attempt to run.

I feel something wet on my face and I realise that I'm crying but bewilderment soon hits me, no matter how dazed I may be. I sway on the spot, knowing that I cannot cry, and drag my fingers down my cheek. When I pull my hand away from my face, it's marked with red. Blood.

Panic-stricken, I look at Danielle, prepared to plead with her to help me but she's sprawled out on her back, facing the sky as if she is sunbathing again. There's something eerie about the way she is lay though, her legs bent at odd angles. An apple, a savage chunk missing from it, is in her hand - it's skin has peeled off and beneath, the fruit is decaying and maggots are writhing over each other to get to the flesh. I rigidly move closer, peering down at her face, and I want to scream, or throw up, or crash to my knees.

Her mouth is wide and gaping, her eyes no longer bright and colourful as they were in the light. Danielle's expression is almost vacant but there are faint traces of terror etched into every feature, washing out the girl I knew. There is a smattering of blood down the left side of her face, over her lips and eyelid. With a shaky hand, I run my thumb down along her cheek and across her mouth but I've drawn a trail of fresh blood. It glistens sickeningly, like crude face paint. It is then that I realise what I have done, why my own skin is marked with red stains.

I'm nauseated. I want to cry for the girl who I have lost, to wipe off all those grisly markings of death, to apologise for doing this to her. But I'm enthralled by the heady metallic scent of blood, and lean in to her limp body.

Pushing past her shirt, I place my hands on her stomach, sinking my nails into the flesh and tear it apart...

My eyes snap open and I jolt up, holding my hands in front of my face, squinting at them in the darkness. There is no sign of gore and I collapse back onto my pillows, my fears alleviated but still I feel disconcerted.

I wasn't asleep. Not exactly, because I can't sleep. My imagination has gotten the better of me, that is all. It was just some sort of nightmare.

But it felt so real.

I'm emotionally shaken up by it and I'm already on my feet, hand on the doorknob, wanting to go and see Danielle just to make sure that she is alright. That is before I realise the time; it is three in the morning.

Regardless of my intentions, I think that Danielle will not be pleased if I show up at her house at this time, waking her up when we have school in the morning. I know it doesn't affect me but I have to remember that Danielle will tire throughout the day. How is that I'm already losing track of such simple, human things after so short a time as the undead?

But that image of her lifeless body is burned into my brain, and onto my eyes, and she is everywhere I turn. I push my fingers through my hair, tugging at the knots with uneasiness.

How could I have even imagined such a thing? I must be sick in the head.

I know I'm not capable of harming Danielle but even so, the thought of her being dead makes my skin crawl. The fact that it was because of me is even worse, no matter if it was all in my mind.

I have to push this out of my consciousness. I have to try and forget. If Danielle knew about this dream - for lack of a better term - what would she think of me? I know what I would do. I'd never talk to me again. I'd get as far away as I could. Normal people don't imagine such things.

I can't let her find out. I have to keep this from her.