The Beautiful Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

comes off. “Oh, crap.”
    “It’s okay.
That’s what we have the Refinery for. Upkeep. This guy down the street, his
toes keep falling off. He makes a trip to the Refinery once a week, not that
I’m keeping track.”
    “That’s ...
awful.”
    “Be thankful
you were Raised with all your body intact. I hear some needed arms and legs
when they were Raised … Can you imagine??”
    “I’d rather
not.”
    Grimsky
smiles, looks away. “I guess I’m going a bit fast for you, aren’t I ...”
    I shrug.
“What’s it matter? We only have all eternity. To do what, I have no earthly
idea. I guess I’ll figure it out. Welcome to the End of Time, you said so
yourself.”
    I do realize
I’m being a little short with him. Maybe my patience has been exhausted for the
day.
    “I’ve been
Undead for five months and twenty-eight days,” he tells me in a quiet voice,
like a secret. “There, I announced my age. How’s that for criminal?”
    Despite the
anger, I break a smile.
    But no matter
the kind words we share, I can’t lighten the heavy stone in my chest. Later in
the evening when the sun has apparently fallen, according to Grimsky’s keen
eye, I walk the inside of my house one hundred times. Staring miserably into
the bathroom mirror, I find that smooth porcelain face that isn’t mine. The
curl of my eyelashes, it’s fake. The striking blue crystals I have for eyes,
they’re fake. Icecap Blue or Cerulean or Moonglow Azure, I don’t really care. I
never did. Call me Winter. Call me Summer. Call me the Devil’s Doornail, I’m
still a dead girl underneath. Even the subtle pink blush in my cheeks is a lie,
pressed onto me, injected into me, just to hide the fact that I’m dead. That
we’re all dead. That underneath all this prettiness, there lies corpses.
Underneath our flawless complexions, fettering flesh that belongs in the earth.
    I clench shut
my eyes and try to remember my life.
    I loathe
what’s happened to me. Every cell in my body pulses with resentment so
powerful, so vile, so passionate that I may as well be alive right now. But I’m
not, and that is the greatest anger of all.
    I want to be
alive. So badly, I want nerves to pinch every inch of my skin. Blood should
rush through me at the sight of the fetching Grimsky, my heart racing in his
presence. What thrill would it be to even kiss him, if I haven’t a heart that
races? Or blood to pump into my fingertips?—into my lips? I want my knees to
turn into noodles, is that too much to ask? I want hairs on my neck that will
stand on end when I’m frightened, when I’m tickled, when I’m turned on.
    Maybe all
Undead feel like this at first. Maybe they all ache and long for their senses,
but I don’t care.
    I want to be
so hungry it aches. I want to fall in love so deeply it makes you squeeze a
pillow in the middle of the day and cry. I don’t remember a second of my Old
Life, but I know what it felt like to get ready for Prom. Like a friend I’d let
go of centuries ago, I want it back, every good sensation and even every bad. I
know the agony of stubbing your toe on a chair leg.
    I’d do almost
anything.
    Weeks slowly,
slowly, slowly pass. I’m growing used to Trenton. I even spot Helena a number
of times, but she always seems preoccupied with something, and whatever it is
always looks to be such a bother that she can’t possibly turn around and notice
me. I tell myself she isn’t doing that deliberately.
    One day, I run
into two of the girls from the Refinery, the one called Roxie and the plump one
who reattached my right arm recently. Her name turns out to be Marigold, like
the flower or whatever. She always waves cheerily at me. There’s a group of men
who always sit outside a furniture store playing cards. They’re pretty
friendly, always seeming to interrupt their game just to say hi to me when I’m
passing. I pretend not to notice them ogle me from behind as I walk away. I
guess I don’t mind the attention. It’s more entertaining