Dead Man’s Story
My heart is no longer pumping. The blood inside is no longer there. I’m dirty, and my clothes are all ripped to shreds. I died without a reason. Why do people kill each other, to show off to their girlfriend? To make sure someone doesn’t tell about a gone-wrong drug deal? Do they like it? I cannot help myself, and no one else seem to care. They just walk past me; they’re too busy to bother about some poor dead guy on the pavement. Then this girl comes up to me. She takes my hands and drags me away from the cold street. That is when my resurrection begins, life comes back to me, and I can feel my own skin. Feel her skin. The skin of my beloved one, the one who killed me.
She is a young girl, not even 20. She says she is 19, but I am having a hard time believing her. She is not very tall; she has long black hair hanging down her shoulders. Her face is small, and she looks asian. Her skin is soft; I can feel it with my still cold finger. She looks at my chest. It is ripped open, and she can almost see through. I can feel her finger playing carefully inside the hole, I take it and lick it carefully. She is enjoying it, and I can hear her making loud noises. She bends down and kisses my mouth. Her lips are warm, and I kiss back. The moment is perfect. Her lips against my lips, her skin against my skin. She leans back. Opens her blouse. She doesn’t have anything under, except two gorgeous round breasts. My hands feel their way to them, and squeeze them gently, but firm. Her hands fall down to the hole in my chest. She touches me deep inside. I’m almost in ecstasy. I’d wish this could last forever, but tomorrow I’m being buried. I hope she’ll visit my grave sometime, so I can she that pretty face again.