I didn't know I was dead til my mother held a mirror up and I saw the maggots crawling across what was left of my face. The strangeness of the last month began to make sense - from the way that everyone tried to avoid me to the way the air had been smelling to the way my family couldn't look at me without tearing up.
I thought it was because Grandad died but I'm starting to remember that we died together. We were in the same car that he always drove like it was a damned tank instead of a tiny hatchback. Neither of us saw that lorry coming and even if we had I don't think there was anything we could have done to avoid it.
Grandad was already on his fourth cancer battle so maybe that's why he went to rest while I didn't want to give it all up. I made myself get up out of the wreckage, scared the shit out of the paramedics on my way, and went home like it never happened.
I made myself forget so I could keep on living when all this time I've been tormenting my family by rotting away right in front of them. I'm just glad they love me enough that they let me have a while longer before reminding me that I should have been buried months ago.
That's where we're going in the morning - out to my burial plot where I'll climb into my coffin and go to sleep.
At least, I hope I'll sleep.
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