Skin as white as snow...

Snow White with skin like snow... Lips of cherry red. Thats how I look now... well sought off, clown red lipstick, 100 shades to bright. Pale concealer spread thickly, failing to disguise the blueish hues that often form after death, I hate that word "death". Makes me think of life. And I never want to think of life.

One thing of being a ghost is the cold, in haunted places people say they feel a chill, it's like that though more consistent, never-ending bit like being dead.

Being dead, it's a funny thing to be able to say.

I peer round, the mortician enters the room, he's a pretty thing, dark hair flopped over a pale face, and cute round glasses. I wonder if he thinks I'm pretty. I'd like to hear him say it, he won't though. It's weird to compliment corpses.

Floating here actually gives me a really good vantage point. I can see all the nooks and crannies of my former body. Bodies bloat after death, I'm fairly sure so I'm not gonna blame myself for that, but the scars on my wrists. Long slits from funny bone to fingertips, one on each side. Left first, then... That's strange, I don't remember the second cut.

The door to the side of the lit medical theatre opens again, this time revealing a considerably less attractive balding man, in a long white coat.

"Police have requested to see the body." He states then begins to exit.

"Yes." The other man nods quickly. He grabs the end of the trolley and begins to wheel it, out away from me. No! I try to speak, words catching in my throat, I can feel my very being trembling, shaking, screaming. Why were there two cuts, why are the police here... AND HOW DID I DIE!!!