The prompt: You find a dead body that looks just like yours.
Before my eyes even open, I already recognize the faint smell of mid grade weed and cheap tequila.
Fuck, why am I still at the frat house? My eyes crack open into slits just big enough to see the light of morning. As I embrace for the headache I knew would come from partying so hard, it doesn’t hit me. Strange. I always have a migraine after a night out.
I ease my limbs alive slowly moving each one. Alcohol always cramps every muscle in my body. But somehow, the pain doesn’t come. My knee injury from high school didn’t even pop when I straightened my leg for the first time.
I don’t have good days, but if I just avoided a hangover from hell after a Halloween frat party, then this is a damn good day.
The house is strangely empty as I stumble down the stairs and over what looks like someone’s vomit from the night before. I wait for the room to spin, but the inertia never comes. Today’s going to be a damn. good. day.
My hand reaches for the door knob and a sudden rush of cold comes over me from head to toe. Something isn’t right. It’s like I can feel it bubbling from my core. I’ve never felt something so deeply, but there’s no doubt in my mind- someone needs me.
I back away from the door as my eyes scan the vacant living room. Two stained couches, an empty keg in a tub of melted ice, and a beer pong table greet me. Where are all the students?
I swayed down the hall left and right avoiding debris and clutter. As I round the corner, the bathroom comes into view and that icy feeling covers my body in goose bumps once more. My hangover must be coming because the nausea that hits is so sudden I lurch forward into the toilet.
I dry heave, and nothing comes up. Why is my stomach so empty? None of it makes sense. What happened at last nights party?
I rise from the porcelain and give the toilet an unnecessary flush, putting the seat down. Probably the first time that’s ever been done, I think to myself. Then, I see her.
A woman, probably my age, one her side in the bathtub. She has on the same shirt as me. Cute, I think with an eye roll.
She’s blonde, and her skin is so fair it looks like a pack of Koolaid would be strong enough to dye her entire body. How does she stay so pale in August? Summer just ended.
I gently whisper, “Hey, are you ok?”
With no response, I inch closer and gently touch her shoulder. She’s freezing, but who wouldn’t be after they slept in a bathtub all night? I try to jostle her awake gently, but I’m again met with silence. It takes me way too long to realize she isn’t breathing.
I fumble through my purse for my phone, but I can’t find it. Fuck. Where did I leave my phone? I can’t even remember who I saw last night. I barely remember why I’m here.
My stomach churns again and I steady myself as I reach for the girl and turn her onto her back so her face is in plain view.
Holy fuck. Holy. FUCK. This girl looks so much like me. I’m stunned for a second as I take a step back.
Her hair is so shiny and healthy. I’ve never liked my hair. It always seems to never have life in it. Her body is much better than mine, too. She’s got curves in all the right places, and I’ve always fell a little flat. It’s like my body put the “thicc” in all the wrong places.
I take a step forward again and assess the girl. It’s not until then that I see the corner of the tattoo inked across her forearm. “Sandra”, my deceased mother’s name. The same tattoo I have on my forearm from the summer after she passed. I look down to my own tattoo. Back to hers. And then it hits me.
I am fucking dead. I have a summer reading project due tomorrow that I worked on for a whole month and I fucking DIED the night before. Why am I not surprised?
I walk away from my own body, lost in an unknown world of what-ifs. And the thought hits me before I’m even ready for the impact.
I was so beautiful, all my life. I had no idea.
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