I'm lying still, too still to be normal. My eyes are closed. I can't move my arm. I can't move any part of my body. I hear a muffled sound. There's someone sobbing. I open my eyes. My t-shirt is socked. It takes me a moment to realise that the wetness is not my sweat. It belongs to my sister. She's sobbing into my chest and on my face. I frown. I touch her hair and ask her what the matter is, but she can't seem to hear me. Her eyes are red and swollen. She's probably been crying for hours. I touch her hair again and call her name. She raises her head and stares at me with watery eyes. I smile. She stifles a sob and smiles back. Then she gets up and walks away. I frown again.
A creaking sound catches my attention. I turn to my right. My mother is seated on the rocking chair I smuggled into my room. She's holding a faded white handkerchief in her right hand, while clutching her eye glasses in her lefts. Her eyes are red too. My frown deepens. She never takes off her glasses. Her sister, my aunt, is standing behind her, gripping her shoulders. I haven't seen her in six months. She must have gotten here while I was sleeping. I smile and say her name. She turns her head and looks at me, then shakes her head and looks away. I see the single tear escape before she catches it with her thumb. She continues to whisper something to my mother.
I stand up slowly. My head doesn't ache anymore. I walk towards my mother. She looks up briefly before pulling my aunt down and hiding her face in her right arm. Her glasses slip from her fingers. I rush to catch it but it dances through my open palm and shatters on the floor. I freeze. I look from my mother to my aunt. Like my sister, they don't seem to notice my presence. I turn and stare at the narrow bed I was sleeping on few minutes ago. I'm still there, unmoving, my eyes closed, my lips paused as if caught off mid sentence. My body is pale and my chocolate skin looks darker. I call my sister's name once, twice. I need her to explain to me the meaning of all of it, but she doesn't answer.
The main door to the house is open. We never open the door expect during Christmas or if there's a special ceremony. There's no event, none that I can remember. I leave my mother and my aunt and walk to my sister's room, taking the long corridor that connects our rooms to the sitting room. Her door is locked. I knock and call her name again. I stand and wait but there's no answer. I walk back to my room but no one notices me. It's like I'm there but not there. I look at the wall clock I hanged besides my door. The time shows past three PM. I look at myself again, willing my hands to move, telling my lips to say something. Maybe they will hear me then, but nothing happens.
I sit on my reading chair and begin to wait. I caress my books. My pen is still inside my journal. I haven't finished that poetry. I open it and start writing. I don't know how long I sat. I get lost in my words whenever I choose to open myself up to them. My mother would complain how I neglect everything else. She once threatened to throw away my chair, but she smiles and touches my face when I finish and read them to her. I smile. My sister's screams brings me back from my fantasy world. I close my journal and follow the noise.
Outside, there's an ambulance waiting. What do they want? I thought to myself. Four men in paramedics uniform climb down and approach the house. My mother, who also followed the screams outside points to my room. They nod. I made to follow them but my legs aren't listening. Few minutes later, they come out carrying me, the me that isn't moving. The put me on a stretcher and wheel me to the waiting ambulance. I follow slowly. I can't stop walking even when I want to. They shut the door and start the engine. Still, I follow. I look back as my mother and my sister fade into the distance. I stretch out my arms but I can't reach them. At that moment, it hits me that I'm dead. I never survived the head injury. They are taking me to the morgue. I continue to follow against my will, as I watch my sister hug my mother before they disappeared completely.
This is me trying to write from a dead person's perspective. I started with the intention of describing a funeral but the story took this turn and I decided to let it. What do you think?