Page 1

1

BACK FROM THE DEAD

“Iam beginning the autopsy on October 31, 2026, 7:05 a.m. The body is that of an unidentified woman,” a deep male voice says.

Ugh.

That voice is so my type. He sounds like a Costco membership and Ad free Netflix account. Trust me, if you get it, then you get it. If you don’t, then you're an asshole because how are you not suffering in this economy?

“The subject is an African American female. Past medical history unknown as we have yet to find next of kin. EMS was called and she had no documented spontaneous cardiac activity from the time EMS arrived at the scene until pronouncement of death.”

I haven’t gained back motor function yet and if I don’t soon, things will get bad real quick. Usually, I’m fully awake before I get to this point, but my death time has been extending a little bit every time.

“External examination. The body is that of a 30-year-old well-developed, well-nourished female. Hair is colored a shade of red or orange. The body has no other major surgical scars. Edema is absent.” The man's voice is flat and bored, like he's reading a grocery list. “The mouth is unremarkable. The external genitalia are⁠—”

I know he’s fucking lying. Unremarkable mouth? I scoff, in my head obviously since I still can’t move.

His mother is unremarkable.

Something metal scrapes across a tray and I start to panic. “I will begin the internal examination.”

Shit.

Crap.

Fuck.

Move, you useless meat sack.

What have I done to deserve this type of ending? I volunteer at a soup kitchen every week. I don’t steal even though I should because prices are becoming disrespectful.

I mean I did call someone’s grandma a bitch last year but in my defense she was driving at a snail's pace on a one lane road. I had places to be, people to screw over, and she was delaying that.

But back to the pressing matters at hand.

My impending doom.

Cold metal presses against my sternum and once again I try, and fail at moving any body parts.

This is it.

It’s my time.

He pauses then sighs. “I should eat some food after this,” he mutters to my absolute despair.

For fuck’s sake, eat now!

And just when I've resigned myself to this being it, the heavens crack open and rain down mercy on my almost-corpse.

His stomach growls.

Loudly.

“Actually, I’m going to eat now.” The scalpel clinks onto the tray and I feel him cover my body with a sheet. His footsteps retreat and the door swings shut. I would be breathing easy right now if I could even breathe.

It’s not even thirty seconds after he leaves the room that I get back feeling in my fingers. A prickle runs through them like static, and then the right index finger twitches against the steel.

Good.