Random plotbunny #1

Note: This is not edited, and I haven't fact checked anything so any technical stuff I've mentioned is probably wrong. The plotbunnies had something to say so I let them...any comments on the voice I've decided to use and whatever the hell is going on here, I'd be happy to receive.

Thanks in advance.

Rewrites are awful.

Getting the first draft down is nightmare enough, but rereading it and destroying every other line so that it’s perfect is a hellish task. I’m of the opinion that you have to be some kind of masochist to enjoy this part of the process, but this is coming from someone whose been rewriting their own eulogy for the past two years.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not dying or anything.

I’ve actually been dead for the past two years.

Why I’m still writing my eulogy is simply because I’ve procrastinated all this time. You’d think being dead would open up your schedule, but you’d be dead wrong…

And now I’ve realized that I’ve used the word “dead” three times in the past two paragraphs and used it once in a horrible pun.

Sigh.

And, backspace…

See, Miranda, who’ll probably come in to interrupt my – what? Fiftieth attempt at this damn thing? – says writing my eulogy will bring me some closure or something of that nature. But I really don’t see the point. I don’t remember what it was like to be alive, even in the literal term.

At the moment I’m nothing more than a soul inside some meat machine.

Which is, you know, great, but not something I can write odes about that will encourage people to weep for the loss of my existence. Mainly because I’m technically still here and also because I’m not much different from the others who are on the same boat as I am –

Hey, boat! I remember reading somewhere about the River Styx in the Underworld, you know Greek Mythology, about the souls of the deceased having to get onto a boat to get across the river and into the afterlife which is why the Greeks bury their dead with a coin so they can pay the fare? That’s always a great metaphor, better go and google – OH MY GOD.  THERE’S A VIDEO OF A KITTEN SNEEZING.

“Daphne.”

Oh come on.

“Yeah?”  

“We’ve got another one.”

“Can’t you take it -”

“No.”

Sigh.

And I just saw another one about a pug getting scared of its own fart. This was going to be the best day ever.

Grumbling, I pushed away from my desk, flipping the screen of my laptop down.

Knowing Miranda she’ll probably come in here while I’m gone and search my internet history.

Yes. She is that nosy. And no, I don’t think she has a life beyond playing the starring role as the annoying older sister, but I’m pretty self centered, so I probably wouldn’t notice either way.

I tugged the vial around my neck, twisted the tiny cap open and took a shot.

There was enough for me to turn back, not that I’d want to since my meat machine of a physical body immediately flopped over – “my back” hitting the table before sliding down into a useless heap of limbs on the floor.

Oh hell. I didn’t realize my skinny jeans gave me kankles. Ugh. Note to self, sew that ish up.

With an irritated huff, I dragged my physical body off the floor and onto my bed. I really should have taken the shot while I was in a comfortable position, but I always forget how useless the physical body is after the soul leaves it.

Anyway.

There was no need for window dressing since I was at home, but leaving “my eyes” open was creepy even to me so I closed “my lids” with my index and middle finger and tried, not for the first time to close my jaw which flopped back down at every attempt. Whatever. I’ll just have to wipe the drool off when I get back.

Where was I going anyway?

The thought had barely left my mind as sirens screamed from a distance outside my window.

Yupp. That’s probably it.

It didn’t take me long to get there, not that I had to walk. Jumping, as it’s called, but not what is actually done, is a wonderful thing, even if I don’t have complete control of it yet. (So I may have ended up in a different country the first two times, but in my defense it takes years to master getting to an exact location, and two years is barely enough time.)

There are two police cars, an ambulance, a news van and bystanders aplenty, all leaning over trying to see over the edge of a cliff beyond the mangled arms of the metal railing that should have kept cars from flying over but clearly didn’t. Tsk. Tsk. You had one job, Railing.

“This is an active crime scene.”

“And an active story, people deserve to know what’s going on here.”

“People have been injured, and if someone has, heaven forbid, died. Don’t you think the family deserves to know from us rather than from the news?”

“You’ll probably take two days to even identify the body let alone inform the family -”

“Still better than having their loved ones turned into media fodder -”

“Wait,” a bystander interrupted, “someone died?”

I walked through the crowd, the yellow tape, the angry cop and even angrier reporter that were basically going to be a new ship I was going to sail on because seriously? That sexual tension is not imagined people.

The crowd began to mutter and talk louder amongst themselves speculating, and if possible, trying even harder to get a peep at the destruction at the bottom of the cliff.

Whoa there Eager Beavers, I came for one person, I’m not dragging a dozen more. Besides the amount of work that is, I’m not capable of it yet and I will certainly not be making round trips to collect. No.

Black cloak barely whooshing as I slid down the cliff, without fear and with the grace of a cat (before I tripped on a very solid piece of stone and almost landed on my face which would inevitably hurt both me and my physical body tremendously) I surveyed  the damage in front of me.

An overturned car with the hood practically crushed all the way to the windscreen, smoke coming out of the bottom (or the top considering that it’s upside down now), one of the wheels turning restlessly and a bloodied arm sticking out of one of the broken windows. Probably the driver.

Oh. Maybe he’s –

The paramedics were able to get the body out, shouting at each other before thrusting the injured man onto a gurney. He didn’t move much and…Wow. That’s a lot of blood.

But that’s not my guy.

Hmm, if not driver then a passenger –

“There’s two more in there,” informed one of the EMTs.

Two more. Okay, so who will it be?

“Any idea who they are?”

The reply was incredulous, “Apparently his wife and his girlfriend.”

Oohh I’d love to know the story behind that one.

 “Do I even want to know?”

Of course I do! But maybe later – My spidey senses are tingling!

But for some reason it was nowhere near the car…Maybe the person got thrown out? Will it be the wife, will it be the girlfriend? It’s time to place your bets!

 Detective Jorah Riley and the medical examiner – oh look, it’s the cute intern!

“That’s a lot of fracturing.”

“Is this just from getting hit by the car and the railing or her hitting her face the ground?”  The detective asked, running his hand over his newly shaved head.

“Probably all of the above, I’ve never seen anything this bad…”

Well you are new to the game, Intern. It seriously does get worse. Good for morbid fascination. Not so good on mental health. I mean, look at me.

“What do you think?”

“Oh, she’s definitely dead.” Is that a sense of humor or does he like to point out the obvious? Either way, Detective Riley isn’t amused, and Intern coughs and then clears his throat. “I’ll need to open her up to figure out what happened exactly, but I’m leaning towards an accident. Did you hear, that guy had his wife and his mistress in the same car, it’s no wonder he lost control.”

Who even told them that anyway?

“I mean, who do you think she is?”

“Hard to say, but she definitely wasn’t in the car.”

 “What makes you say that?

“The amount of fracturing isn’t consistent with any that could be achieved if she was in the car and then thrown out of it. Plus there’s minimum glass on her, all superficial in depth, more a spray than the result of impact.”

With an approving nod, Detective Riley clapped him on the back. “Good job Henry, I’ll leave you to it.”

Good.  Then I can find out where this girl’s soul went wandering off to.

I pause. Dear lord, there’s a desert down here?

Squinting into the distance, all I saw was a wavy heat wave crimpling up the horizon. And sand. Lots of sand. This’ll be just lovely.

A quick glance at the body that lay on the ground, I noted the clothes. It would have made it easier; I hoped to find her but…

Really? A beige shirt and brown shorts? Who dressed you?!

A badge on the shirt answered my question: Ashgrove Prep.

I thought private school uniforms were supposed to be fashionable? Is Gossip Girl built on a house of lies?!

Fine, I’ll just have to do this the hard way.

Fortunately for me Henry the cute intern was still trying to organize a body bag, and Jane Doe was still lying on the ground. Guess its Fate then.

Bending at the knee at her side, I reached out to brush the hair out of her face.

It was matted with blood sticking to her cheek and leaving a bloodied trail in its wake, a strand had gotten caught around her necklace and it pulled just enough that her head turned with little resistance.

It was an ugly sight. Girlie’s neck was definitely snapped.

Hmm…

I pressed another hand to her chest, and it depressed with no resistance. Whoa. Was it liquefied in there?

Well, this wasn’t going to be fun…

Taking a breath for strength, I implored to the empty case that was Jane Doe’s body, “Open.”