A Murder Gone Wrong

I woke up.

“I’m feeling quite numb.” I said, shaking my head. I sat up. Something happened. A loud noise.

“What was that?” I asked, and found, to my surprise, that a wound had opened up in my chest. I looked at it, amazed. Another noise. Another wound. I felt nothing.

I looked up. Joe was standing there.

“Hi Joe.” I murmured. What had happened? I saw the smoking gun in Joe’s hand. It all clicked together.

“You shot me!” I said, outraged, and picked myself up. Joe’s gun rang out another time, and the shot caught me right in the head. Blood and bone and brains splattered everywhere.

“Stop…stop killing me!” I said angrily. Joe backed away, horrified.

I put my hand to my head. Most of it seemed to be missing.

“What the hell is going on?” I shouted, and Joe screamed and fired his last shot. It missed entirely.

“Why? Why did you kill me?” I yelled, suddenly, despite the lack of most of my face. I wondered how I was able to speak. Or move at all.

“I…I just…” Joe was trembling. He was pale and shivering and looked horrible. Not quite as horrible as I looked, though. Because I had been shot. In the head. And now I was dead. It was hard to get it through my mind.

“I got greedy!” Joe yelled, suddenly.

“Please don’t kill me!” This seemed a bit hypocritical, I thought.

“But you killed me!” I argued, angrily.

“By all rights, you should be the one who should suffer. And go to hell. And such.” I said.

“I’m sorry!” Joe yelled, pleadingly. I took a step forward. Joe stumbled backwards, crying. I felt almost sorry for him. But then I saw the blood dripping from my many wounds. Wounds he had inflicted.

“You stupid idiot. Now I’m dead and undead and you’re a murderer and feel bad.” I said this quite seriously, despite the way it sounded.

Joe was sobbing in the corner.

“You murdered me for this?” I asked, grabbing for the case. Even in the state he was in, I noticed Joe had not entirely forgotten the case either.

“Well, tough.” I said, finally, after considering.

“If I can’t have the money, then you damn well won’t either.”

I considered killing him, but that, too seemed hypocritical. I was dead. And so far, it sucked. I couldn’t feel anything. And everything was strange and numb and bizarre, and it was like living through a puppet, or through a window. It was like I was watching myself moving around, and didn’t feel what my body felt, rather, I had to guess what I was feeling by watching closely.

I reached into my pocket. My hand was a bit clumsy. Maybe it was because I was dead. I reached out a lighter. And opened the case.

“Consider this part of your penance, jackass.” I said loudly, and lit the corner of a crisp 100 dollar bill. It instantly caught alight. I dropped it back into the suitcase, alongside the still burning lighter.

“There. Now we’re both poor. And I’m dead.”

“I’m sorry!” Joe repeated, still sobbing. The case was burning merrily. I tried to smile. Then I remembered that I didn’t have a mouth.

“I’ve done what I was supposed to do? Right?” I asked the ceiling. I almost expected an answer. That was how it worked, right? You finished your unfinished business, and then you left this world for the next. What else was left? I had a few unpaid bills, but other than that, I was good.

“I punished my murderer. My business is finished. I get to leave this body, right?” There was no way I was hanging around. A rotting corpse missing half of its face, bleeding from half a dozen wounds? I’d never make it down the street. Besides. The simple fact that I had come back as a zombie meant there was some sort of afterlife. Right? At least, there was some kind of supernatural force that brought me back to life. Right?

Joe was still sobbing uncontrollably. No help from him, I guess. Damnit.

“What the hell happens now?” I yelled, at no one in particular. Joe’s gun caught my eye. I should probably take it off him. In case he tried to kill anyone else. Himself, for example. Heck, I wasn’t too keen on taking any more hits myself. If I was stuck here, I’d want to remain relatively whole. I guess I could solve the no head problem by wearing a hood, or something. I clumsily grabbed the gun and tossed it out the window. It occurred to me half a second later that this probably wasn’t the best course of action. Then it occurred to me that I was dead, so it didn’t really matter. Meanwhile, the suitcase full of money was burning so merrily that the carpet had caught fire.

“Oh shit!” I yelled, seeing it.

“Fire!” I panicked.

“FIRE!” I yelled, backing away, into a wall. I suppose a lifetime of living taught one to be afraid of fire. It never occurred to me to try and stamp out the flames. Joe wasn’t moving. Damnit. I should help him. He was my friend, after all. Even after shooting me. I grabbed him by the arm and he screamed.

“Joe, get out, man. There’s a fire.” He was whimpering. I swore and dragged him upright, smearing my blood all over him. Ick. I ripped the door open and threw him down the hallway. I seemed to be pretty strong. He went pretty far.

“FIRE!” I roared again, to warn everyone else.

I turned back to the merry blaze. It sure had spread quickly. Fire doesn’t screw around; it gets straight to the point. I had always wondered why people didn’t just put them out. So your food is on fire! Throw some water over it! Or some kind of blanket! But no, the fire burnt their entire neighborhood. These things spread damn quick.

I wondered what to do. I didn’t feel the heat. I noticed that I no longer felt the compulsion to breathe, so the smoke didn’t do much either.

“I guess this is how I go out, eh?” I said to the ceiling again. No reply. As always.

“Ah, heck. Why not.” I settled down on a burning chair, and began to wait. I didn’t have to wait long. My body burnt pretty quickly. And suddenly, I was free. I floated vaguely in the room, bodyless, drifting slightly upwards. Good for me. But what happens now?