If I close my eyes, I can feel the ground under my feet. With a little effort, I can remember what it was like to walk, not just move, just go from one place to another. Curious. Very curious. However, it is fun to be able to go wherever you want whenever you want. I rise just by thinking about it.

Seeing everything from above, without anything that limits you, without anything that stops you is a surreal feeling. If I close my eyes, I can imagine what it would be like to go through the clouds, touch them, even smell them. Being dead has its advantages.

I sit carefully on the edge of the abyss next to the one-day friends I just met before looking in front of me. The clouds have always looked different when you look at them from above, a white and gray sheet that covers everything. That hides everything.

I'm not someone who talks a lot, so I prefer to hear them comment on how their day was, what they did, laugh at their jokes, know where they went... It always gives me ideas for the next time I go out.

It is curious that the only thing that reminds me of what I am is a fine silver thread that comes out of my chest. Finer than a hair, infinite, it does not prevent me from going anywhere, but it makes me return every night, every time the day ends, to what I once was.

Even if only for a few minutes, reliving your last moments is not a pleasant experience. When the twelfth bell rings in town, I go back to the bathroom where it all ended. It is as if my body is pulling from the other end, enraged by my absence.

Summoned by my memories, the distant echo of my home reaches my ears. The vibration runs through every particle of my spirit, and I wonder again why we are the only ones who have this happen.

In all this time, I have not seen anyone go through what I, or any of those who live in town, have to go through every night. For a time I was frustrated, then I wanted to feel special, unique and different, but it is already annoying. Plain annoying.

The souls who accompany me look at me without understanding why my contour is blurred after the second bell, increasingly erratic, as if something convulsed inside me. I can only smile when I hear the third one. There is no point in apologizing or telling them not to worry anymore. Even if I returned to this place they would not be there by then.

"Thanks for the company," I say reluctantly, my voice accompanied by an unnatural echo. There have already been four.

My vision blurs, I can feel the thread tightening further. I wonder if they can see it too, or if they have one to begin with. My limbs tremble as the fifth bell rings.

"What's wrong?" Six. My eyes must resemble the empty sockets of my head, because I hardly see anything anymore. The boy's voice is barely audible after the seventh chime, so I don't hear what he says next.

Cold comes with the eighth, and darkness with the ninth. It is curious, very curious, because with the tenth I feel the pressure. The thread must be completely taut because I feel that my heart is about to leave my chest.

Reflexively, I inhale deeply as I hear the eleventh chime, as loud and clear as if it were on top of the clock tower, the all-seeing white eye. The rattling disorients me even more, if possible, and with the last one I feel that I am being pulled from another place. A place far, far away from here.

I know I squeeze my eyes shut just because it's what I used to do when something scared me. I'm terrified of constantly going back to that place, coming back every night just to walk away again, only to start from scratch once again.

It's curious. I spent so much time wanting to get away, and now something is holding me there, and I'd love to know what. The experience is not sweet, nor beautiful, nor remotely pleasant. Honestly, who would like to remember his murder?

When I return, the pain is there. I can feel the stabbings once again. At this point I can count them without problems. Two in the chest, one in the hand, one in the arm, two in the belly, a blow to the face, a spit, I fall to the ground, and a kick to the crotch.

I lose my air, my eyes close, my body cools, and something warm, liquid, bathes me where I am. It is the smell of public toilets where my dignity was stolen whenever they wanted, the smell of the nights when I had to escape to get my daily bread, the smell of insults, laughter, looks, beatings, the kicks and each of the cuts that covered my legs, and that still cover them.

The seconds go by fast, but I feel each one of my pores squeal before they pull the trigger. My eyes are fixed on the ground when I exhale for the last time, and for some reason I can feel the blood coming out of my mouth. For some reason, I can see the red puddle growing around me. For some reason, I know I still cry despite being dead.

It was going to end like this anyway. I had been bitten a week before and my left leg was totally rotten. I thought that I could delay it if I took something, if I exercised, if I meditated and if I prayed, but I was condemned anyway.

I decided to fulfill one last whim, a small gesture of affection that I used to refuse to be able to do all the shopping. I took a chocolate from the store shelves before going back to the house, and my air stopped. It was already night. It had grown dark faster than I thought, and I heard the shots. I cursed a thousand times when I started running. I had to get away from there, but I tripped because of the cuts.

I open my eyes for a second, just for a moment, to realize that I'm still in the same place. The electricity has long stopped working, but I can perfectly see the mold stains on the walls and the mirror next to the window, the paint that peels off the walls and the fungi that grow all over the floor. It's even funny that a flower is growing where my left eye used to be. It is still a cocoon, but it has a nice purple color. The feeling is... strange, but it doesn't bother me anymore.

I can stay in there, but it is easier to move without having to drag a body. I've tried too many times to keep doing it, and sometimes my muscles don't respond either. There's no point wasting time on it, so I just slide and I'm free once more.

When I'm about to go through one of the walls, I hear the door open. It creaks as if it had never been oiled, and I suppose it must be like this after so long. I see a shadow that enters awkwardly, a body that moves as if it is about to fall, and then I recognize him.

His jaw is missing, his blackened tongue hangs as if it were a tie, and he only has one eye, but he still has the same face, or part of it, I suppose. I stay, just because the scene fascinates me. His awkward steps get closer and closer to my thrown body. I'm sure it made the same impression on him. The human body is not very attractive after a year of death. And he keeps walking until he's in front of me.

His face turns for a second, as if analyzing the situation, and falls apart as expected. I stay there, because if he'sbeen looking for me for so long, the least I can do is wait for his spirit to come out.

I smile when I see his brown eyes and red hair again. They were the same eyes I used to sneakily see in class, the eyes I wanted to be stared back at, and the eyes I dreamed of every night.

He also smiles. That should already be a good start. Eternity may be worth it then, but we have to catch up first. For the first time in a long time, I smile sincerely at the idea of ​​having company.