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Syndel's Spire
Syndel's Spire

Introduction
My texts (78)
My series (10)

PHQ-Nickname:
Syndel

Halfquake:
Mania

Level:
74

Total kills:
19,843,348

Birthday:
00th 0000

Chapter 2

Mood:peaceful
Type:Story
Added:June 09th 2007, 22:28:16
Visits:887
Series:[ The Returned ]
Rating:Not rated yet.

Description:
The second part of The Returned in which we discover: The decease's Identity, his family, his new-found abilities.

Writing stats:
Unedited as of posting.
1156 words.
2 days of planning and an hour of writing.

As always reviews welcome.

As he stood over his corpse a morbid curiosity came over him. He examined his body lying below him, feeling surprisingly calm.
"That's odd" He said to himself and then he gasped as the words came out as the quietest whisper on the air.
"Hello?" He said, louder this time but still only reaching him as clearly as a gust of wind. He tried to move his mouth but found no response from his muscles. Panicking he tried to grasp his mouth with his hands before realizing he had no hands or arms or even a mouth. His mind racing he struggled to stop panicking as he organized his thoughts.
"Okay." He said to himself. "I have no body right now but that's ok… I mean I've lost one already and I'm still alright… right?" He glanced at his body, suddenly remembering what was so odd about it. He had been shot straight through his forehead. He had been conscious for the last few milliseconds as the bullet had curved and shattered. Much of the bullet had gone straight through leaving a sizeable hole in the fence behind where he had been standing. The shot must've been loud enough to alert everyone nearby yet it was clear that no one had responded. He could still hear the quiet lullaby of his mother just rooms away and the ordinary sounds of suburbia filtered through the garden walls. He got the feeling that something odd was going on.
‘What about death?' He thought to himself. Death had greeted him by saying "So you are dead… Finally" Why finally? Had Death been waiting for this?
With these thoughts still tormenting him, there came the crunch of gravel under tire as his dad drove up the driveway at the front of the house. Suddenly he was hit by a feeling of dread. The driveway was situated to the right of the house with a side passage between the house and driveway to the back garden - the passageway that now contained his earthly remains in clear view. He heard the opening of the car door, the slam and clatter as he locked the car and the rhythmic crunch of tired feet. Suddenly his dad came into view. Time seemed to stand still as he glanced up the path towards the fallen body. His eyes went wide as they took in the scene, blood splattered across the walls and his own son's head blown wide open and slightly deflated like a battered Halloween mask. For a moment he stood there, suitcase held dumbly by his side, coat draped casually over his shoulder, keys held in his mouth. He moved jerkily, dropping the coat and suitcase and spitting out the keys. He made for the body but his horror drove him back. His eyes were wild as he attempted to rationalize the scene. "Mike?" He said, his voice fractured and shaking.
‘Well… it looks like my death had more effect on him at any rate.' Thought Mike sullenly.
‘So… my names Mike? Funny, I wonder why I couldn't remember it.' His dad had been a work-a-holic, never much time for Mike and always forcing him to do things which he felt were needlessly pointless. When he was at home it would only ever be "Tidy your room." or ";Do this job for me." Even when either job would probably bring more problems than good. He held little love for his father.
Seeing him struggling to comprehend this was almost hollowing for Mike. This man who had always acted strong and in control was now almost blubbering over what was, in effect, an empty shell.
His dad soon gained control of his emotions and ran inside the house with fire in his eyes, Mike could hear a sudden confrontation inside, his mother laughing nervously and his father yelling things aggressively. Soon his father reappeared, dragging his mother behind him. She was staring at him with hate as if daring him to be joking about something so serious. As her eyes took in the scene she responded with silence and a blank expression. Mike admired her for being able to hold her dignity unlike his father as she examined the scene - her eyes mercilessly taking in every detail, emotions hidden only shallow beneath her skin. They stood there a moment together before embracing each other. After a while his mother broke the hold and whispered in a shaking voice "I'll call the police." She left suddenly, only looking back to glance tearfully at the scene before heading into the house.
When the police came they did the usual grunt work preparing for the forensics, the forensics arrived and took pictures and set up blood lines to determine the precise angle of shooting. Mike watched in fascination as they used sophisticated equipment and triangulations and still managed to get both the position and height of the "assailant" wrong as well as the entry and exit point of the bullet on his skull. He couldn't blame them on that count however, there was not that much skull left to examine.

Eventually the forensics teams packed up, most of the police left and his parents had gone to get what little sleep they could. Mike saw his body taken away in a black bag, dragged into the back of an ambulance. He had assumed at till this point that he was attached to his body and that he would be forced to travel wherever it did but this seemed not the case as the ambulance disappeared out of view. ‘How can I move then?' He thought to himself. He tried using his normal impulses to move parts of his body but nothing happened. He stood there silently in thought for a while when suddenly inspiration struck him. ‘If all I have left is my mind…' He thought excitedly. ‘Then maybe I can use it to do more than just think.' He concentrated hard on moving forwards, in his mind picturing the scene of his disembodied form travelling to the fence in front of him. He closed his eyes, willing every part of him strength and direction, suddenly he felt himself moving. New energy filled him and he let out a gasp as he fell forwards through the air, twisting and twirling through the flowerbeds as he tried to control his new-found agility. He closed his eyes and focused instinctively on stopping. Suddenly all was still. He opened his eyes. For a moment all was grey before out of the mist came a breathtaking sight. His eyes met the birds-eye view of a bustling town. He was suspended in the air, probably a mile off the ground, the wind whistling through the air at high speed, the lights of the night-life causing an odd polka-dot pattern across the landscape below. ‘I can fly?!' Mike thought to himself. Maybe death wasn't as bad as it was cracked up to be.

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