CHAPTER ONE
As I sit on the window seat, reading the book I had been assigned to read in one of my classes five years ago, I was blankly aware of the fact that a new student would take this flat on as their new home.
But I have grown tired of being rejected. Each time I tried to be friendly, they would run away. As a result, I decided that I won't say anything to this one. I'm not going to risk being seen or heard. I'll simply stay in the closet all day, and look around my flat when the person is asleep.
The person's furniture had been brought up by buff men who I assumed weren't living in my flat since they both had a company's name across the front of their shirt and they looked to be forty years old.
I had looked through the very person's items and it seems as though it's another boy, what year I couldn't tell, but by the colors and mismatched patterns, I could tell it couldn't be female.
I must say, boys have always been better than girls, since the female population at the school now seem to be sluts and extremely bitchy, or it was just that I was lucky enough to get one of the few.
All I'm hoping is that this one isn't sleeping around because that's always uncomfortable to listen to and always awkward to look at them afterwards. Especially when they first meet you. Yeah, I hope this isn't a slutty man.
I didn't expect the boy to come and put the rest of his stuff away and move in today, but I couldn't help but hope he does. It's always boring without anyone else to watch or a television that works. All I can do all day is read the same book I've been reading for five years.
I flip through the pages, reading over again how Jane Eyre blooms from being beaten by her aunt to becoming free. After a while, I set down the book and look through the small box that the men had set on the table for the boy. Hoping that the boy was a reader, I flip through the box, under supplies and tubs of paper and pens and pencils, before coming face-to-face with a stack of the very thing I was hoping to find.
I flip through the small stack, counting out seven books in total, a few by Agatha Christie and one by Charles Dickens, others by authors I didn't recognize by name, but was just as grateful for the novels.
I chose one of my favorites And Then There Were None by none other than Agatha Christie: an extremely easy read and captivating thriller. I put the rest of the books in the box carefully, and set back to my spot at the window, beginning to read a new book for the first time in years.
It's only a Wednesday, so I decide that it's very unlikely for the boy to come in the middle of a school week. The only reason that I really want him to come is so that I can eat.
Since I've died, I've realized that I can go an extremely long time without eating and a long time without feeling hungry. Both of them are good characteristics since I can't leave my flat. I learned that the hard way when I tried to go to my favorite bakery down the road, and instead got a massive headache. (Bigger than when Alex hit me in the head with his shoe.)
I haven't been hungry for the past couple of days, but now all I'm craving is food. When I was alive, I had always had a fast metabolism, but I was always hungry, too. Now, I'm not hungry all the time, but when I am, it's not always a good thing.
I read on in the book, ignoring the sounds pouring out from my stomach. As I reread a page for the fourth time, I finally come to my senses and put the story down. It was hard to focus on the book, since my mind kept wandering to my hunger and the boy that would soon turn up.
+
Today is the day that I have been waiting for, Saturday. When I was alive, it was always my favorite day since I could take my time and do whatever I want, but just for today, it's because I have a feeling the boy is coming.
