The following is an excerpt for G.W. Jefferies’ short story, Undead in the Head
For the first time in a year I was actually running early for work. Traffic is mild, but by far not busy. Such a typical morning, with a tad overcast with the music flowing like the wind.
I reached over to turn on my turn signal and slowed my car down. I’m ready to go to work, but to be honest, I’m not really sure why. Nothing good ever comes from it. Work is a waste of time.
On this fateful morning, a woman who was not paying attention, going forty miles above the speed limit, ran her truck into the back of my car. There was no warning, no attempt to hit the breaks from the she devil. My seat breaks out of its hinges and the steering wheel shifts to the right. I think I’m still alive.
The car swerved into the ditch at the side of the road and in the back of my mind, I knew I had to get out of my vehicle. I remembered for television that there was a possibility the car would catch on fire. But, I really did not know that this was unlikely to happen.
I crawled out of my car and yelled, “What the Hell is wrong with you?” but I quickly fell to the ground The clouds were moving at a fast pace. This was a surprising sight. My head began to hurt and I blanked out.
Darkness fell over me. My heart beat slower and slower till I heard no more. Death temporary conquered me. And then, I rose from a metal table in a darkish green room filled with various tools and supplies typically found in a morgue. Before my body was prepared for burial, I had reawakened. No telling how long I had been dead.
“Undead, I awake and live again.” I proclaimed even though I knew I was alone. At least I thought I was alone.
Uncertainty and confusion was in the air. Why and how did I come back to life? What is the meaning, the purpose of all of this? This event did mean something. No, this is a miracle. It must be. I heard about this woman who had died and came back to life an hour later. Rigor mortis had even set in. They all thought she was dead. And why not? Your heart stops and you get buried. This is the norm.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. I’m no longer in a hospital. It is hard to remember past events. My body may be back, but my mind is not. Such a shame, for what is body without its mind?
There was a pair of used clothing on a chair in a corner of which I decided to put on, because I could not go out naked. With a few coughs here and there, I slid off the table. Surprisingly, for someone who had just come back from the dead, the body felt stronger and healthier than before. Maybe it was the long awaited rest that was needed. The joints were hard to move at first, but the usual flexibility came back, like the good old days.
The answers were out there and not in this mortuary. That bitch killed me. That must be it. How can such a random event take place? Of all days! I just wanted to get to work on time.
And then it hit me. Sort of like that car. A headache had come back so powerful that the pain brought me to my knees. I reached up to touch my head, as if this would some how miraculously stop the torment I was feeling. With disgust I noticed something. My hand felt a warm wet spot. A piece of my scalp was missing. How could I have not noticed this before? Everything else seemed to be ok with me, must move on and move forward to find some answers.