Life can be pretty cruel sometimes. We all know it, but as it turns out, death can be worse, to a special horribly unlucky few.
Some may be cursed to never die, and may have to watch as their bodies deteriorate over countless generations, before they become little more than a pile of dust, left to ponder over what they did wrong, which God they crossed to deserve such an unfortunate fate…
Yet others may be granted a taste of freedom coated in horror, a temporary darkness, only to have it ripped from them, to be dragged, screaming in silence to the blinding light of the living.
But they aren’t really ALIVE, are they?
No, they aren’t. They are both dead, yet have had their death undone. Undead, I suppose.
I am one such soul, cursed to being bound to a pitiful pile of bones that was once my body. My mighty muscles I had to tear myself from, my flesh I had to rip open from the inside.
The weirdest part of it all is how I could hardly feel it. It wasn’t really a pain, more numb than that. And even as I could tell my brain was liquefying inside my skull, and seeping from the cracks, and even as my stomach rotted, and my intestines shrivelled, I pondered:
What had I done wrong?