He stretched his fingers against the shadows, the joints cracking as he did so. It was pitch black, but his eyes pierced it as surely as it was day. All his senses were improved. He could feel the wood slowly rotting, and hearing the worms borrowing through the ground around him. He could taste the blood as it slowed in his veins. Who knew death could be this sweet? Slowly, ever so slowly, he eased himself out of the fleshy shell and looked down into his dead eyes. He watched in a detached fascination as his arms feel back against the floor of the coffin. It . When alive he might of used the words wondrous, or incredible, or disturbing, but he found it rather hard to get that excited now. was somewhat angry. More disappointed really. He knew what to expect after death. He always had. He still had those memories, but they were clearer now that all the fog and nuances of his human mind were cleared. He could feel the two conflicting forces still pushing against each other, and yet struggling to keep from being split by their differences. He smiled, or he would of if he had lips. Thought tingled more now, tickled. It was like having two separate streams of thought bound into one path of consciousness.