I was trapped a corner on the stairwell, sixth floor. Bullets tore through my body from his AK47 as I sank down to the floor, dead. Strangely, I somehow willed my sprit to remain in my dead body. Lifting my head I saw him looking at me in terror, gun still in his hand and pointed at my chest. As he emptied his barrel into my body I looked at him and laughed. Pushing the gun away I stood then looked down at my body and smiled.
I can walk, talk and speak but I feel nothing. My body is just a hard shell. How can this be? How can I be dead but still able to exist in my body? The thought exhilarated me. My head rose to his sudden outburst of tears. “Why don’t you just run?” I asked. But the look in his eyes told me that he was frozen in terror. He could not move even if he tried.
I walked up to him with a sweet smile on my face, softly touched his cheeks and whispered “I love you.” I then slowly reached down to his shoulders, held both his arms and tore them off tossing them aside as he screamed and fainted in agony. I then bent, grabbed his leg and lifted him with ease. He looked like a rag doll, weightless to me. I then began swinging his body forward and backwards like one would a golf club, and then I slammed his body into the ground, back and forth again and again smashing his head into the ground until only the neck remained.
Laughing and skipping like a child, I carelessly tossed the rest of his body aside then looked for the exit.