An odd beginning

I have been hearing of my own death for months now as though it had already happened. The inhabitants of the other apartments walk past my door each day gossiping of how I died, each time more or less different in some way. It's funny how the word of mouth works, huh?

I've been searching for my dear cat, who was here just last night all day, and yet, nothing. I have found her food and her poo, yet not a single sight of the dearest cat who pins my soul together. She is about 20-something pounds, and appears like a half burnt sour-dough round. She usually greets me in the morning with gentle boops of her wet nose accompanied by comforting cooing.

Well, I'm happy to admit to you that I am in fact still alive, despite my lack of courage to confront anyone, despite how much of a relief it would have been. No, I will simply continue with my daily chores and mull about, having lost my job, I woke to a voicemail on my phone, claiming I missed work for a week, yet, when? I slept one night after a long sift only to wake to this.

I can hear my neighbor fighting again, I could swear it sounds as though that woman beats her tender toddler. I have often imagined myself doing something for the kid, only to continue on, doing not a thing like the rest of the block. I could swear it grates at my soul, pulls something from deep within me to the surface, something I have fought a long battle to bury within.

I am beginning to wonder what could be wrong, my boyfriend who I just realized was missing along with my cat, who I have never been happier to see. My cat is ignoring me as my boyfriend hid away in bed, secured under our blankets which shook gently with his sobbing. I have tried everything within me to learn what troubles him, only to be ignored. My cat is ignoring me too.

What is going on? I have conflicting memories, I can...I can remember going to bed, I was having so much trouble sleeping, so I took a few benedryl. I took a few of those with my seroquel, not thinking much of it, only to never wake inside my body again. My boyfriend was on a work trip and...and my cat became desperate, she ate my feet. My boyfriend found my body laid out in coagulated blood on our bed three weeks later, grabbed my cat and ran for his parents where he stayed for god knows how long. Who can blame him?

Oh, my dear, I am so sorry, I would never with this trauma on you.

I'm so sorry.

>

I realize now, I can leave this place, I am no longer tethered as I was when I had a body. I have no joys here, I see my loved ones fester here. That damn woman again, she's berating her child, and I am done sitting idly by, when I can attempt to fix it. I fly myself across the courtyard, directly into her window, where I will make use of the decayed state of myself along with the hatred my death has gifted me.

I immediately fly into the woman, knowing full well she would not give me long to enact my plan. I call CPS, alerting them to come to her child, finding the address on some mail, overdue bills, they were certainly the right address. I put the child in her bed, innocent and bruised as she was, a swollen lip and rotting food crusted to her shirt. Hopefully she would find a better life with someone else.

With one last act of forethought I unlock the door before slamming her head into the mirror in the bathroom. Blood dripped down into the moldy basin on the sink, first slowly, then pouring, covering the sickening scent of mildew as it did. I take one last look at her now nearly toothless and quivering before plunging out her right eye.

She could feel the pain despite my lack of feeling, something I fear I may be enjoying too much, yet I will not stop. Seeing a dirty pair of scissors above the toilet, I begin slowly, cutting her fingers from her hand, only to begin stabbing the blade into the palm as if to create fingers from the bones in her palm. I had never known such intimate a revenge, it was nearly palatable.

The woman grows weak within me, as I look down at the simply massive amount of blood loss. Were I not in her, she would have lost consciousness long ago, something that drives one last spear or spite through me. I gather all I have within me to take the scissors and split her stomach wide, allowing her guts to spill onto her cold feet as I exit, forever changed.

Forever a sadist, dead, fated to roam the earth in search of others who wrong the helpless on some sick crusade of carnage.

I will enjoy this far too much.