Dead at eighteen.

hey guys! this post is a little shorter than usal but it's a post right? lol! here you go! 

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I am dead. I’m lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling fan, my arms hang loosely by my side as my legs hang over the end of my bed. So why do I know I’m dead? I try to move and I feel my finger twitch. That’s all the movement I’m capable of?  I stare still at the celling wondering what time it is, wondering does anyone else know I’m dead? Does anyone care?  I lie there for hours it seems before I become aware of vibrations in the floor, I hear a muffled voice talking, to me perhaps, and I feel the door open and my mother walks in and opens the curtains, still talking, and then turns to my emotionless face.

And she screams.

I can’t hear it but the look on her face is devastating enough it makes me want to close my eyes, make it all go away as I watch her face become red and covered with tears for she has just discovered her only son, Dead. I feel nothing as she clasps my hand with hers and strokes my hair, and I hear nothing as she screams for it not to be true. I would give anything to make her suffering stop, for her to tell me it was all going to be okay. For nothing in the world is more painful than seeing your mother cry praying to god that it wasn’t true that her son had been taken from her so soon. Finally I watched her rest her head on my chest and silently weep. I knew that if there was any life in me I would whisper the words I had always felt but never said.

“I love you mom”