Not Dead

As he does, I move. My hand raises up in front of me, and my head turns to look at it. My fingers curl into a fist, then uncurl.

But it isn’t me moving them.

It isn’t me.

I sit up. No. Not me. It sits up, the thing wearing me sits up, and looks around.

“Do you know who you are?” The Doctor asks.

The thing wearing me opens my mouth, then closes it. I can feel something happening in my brain. Not physically, the brain doesn’t have any nerves, but I can feel . . . something.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)