A corpse that… speaks?
A corpse
that
speaks
Do you believe in reincarnation?
This woman- doctor drops a bit of her typical cool, together with the wrist I’m engaged to.
Who spoke?
She murmurs, startled, between herself.
The room is small, empty, silent, coloured with that famous white that usually makes everyone so happy in the hospitals. Around us, the walls let the sounds of my hands rebound. Maybe it was just the imagination, some guy hidden somewhere with one of those rectangular devices making a joke.
I’m here, just behind you
The voice, a croaking metallic voice, comes as it was everywhere in the room. It reminds me the crackle of a fire. Besides the fact that fire doesn’t usually speak. The wrist becomes rigid at once, followed by the rest of the body. Slowly, the feet do their job and the body follows, turning. Every single movement in the room will be captured, if any. But there’s nothing, besides the dead corpse of the doctor she’s just checked. For sure it was an hallucination. Too many of that movies with monsters on TV, and sci-fi, but over all too many days in solitude. That body was checked, emptied, checked again. Now it will be useful only as fertilizer.
Don’t waste our time, please. They will be here, soon
Again, that sparkle of voice travels in the air. This time, though, the origin seems clear, it comes from the corpse. It would be the joke of one of those guys doing the nightshift, sometimes they’re really childish. Under the table, removed the white cloth, only air. She’s always alone, and always at work, it have to be that. I’m the only friends she got and she didn’t even know about me. In case my battery would stop and my seconds with it, I would be soon only a small ornament for her house.
Who’s… who’s…
The voice gets a higher pitch, as a mother queen questioning her daughter in an opera.
I said please don’t waste our time. I don’t have it anymore and you… well, you won’t, neither
But what…
oh, well, well, that’s all I need, a catatonic state. Listen, haven’t you ever seen before a corpse… speaking? Cut my small finger, fast! I will escape there
The voice is not a sparkle anymore, is more fluid, as it is more in tune with the world around.
How?
Ask my favourite voice, higher and higher.
Do as I told you, cut the finger from his left hand
As everything was just part of a strange dream, the arm moves slowly and takes a blade, which reflects the white of the lights inside the room. Outside, not too distant, fast steps someone approaching seem to be the famous fate.
Do it, now!
Commands the fluid sparkling voice. A sensation of hypnotic happiness pervades these hands, now dirty with blood, expert. The small finger is cut and wrapped in a small white cloth. The steps arrive just in front of the door and
TumpTumpTump
Then, silence. Hidden behind the door she’s trying not to breath. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, or maybe after long time she finally knows. She’s alive!
This story will be published once per week only, with all rights reserved for the story and its translations by Flyingstories.org and in the person of Daniele Frau.
All the graphics are handmade and designed with different techniques by Gabriele Manca, DMQ productions, who reserves all rights.
All English articles published in Souls (alive) proofread by Elisabeth Corcoran
