[ WP ] After waking up from a three years long coma , you hear on the news about an odd machine that was used countrywide to reveal who people were in another life while you were sleeping . Out in public for the first time , everybody seems to stare at you and whisper behind your back .

Haze clouded my vision as I lifted my eyelids. They felt heavy. My whole body felt heavy. I could swear my body was made of lead going through jello. The air I breathed forced into me through something long and tube like. Eventually the haze settled a bit and I could make out my surroundings. I was in a hospital room. The curtains were drawn and the room was bare save for my own bed. It looked like the room was big enough to house multiple hospital beds, but somehow, mine was the only one in the room. Then I remembered. That's right... the car crash. A car swerving in the left lane. I could n't avoid it. I remembered the car rolling and rolling until it stopped. And everything went black, and now this. Makes sense. Somehow. After a few minutes a nurse came in with a clipboard. She did n't notice right away that I had opened my eyes and was staring right at her. It was as if she was avoiding looking at my face. She checked my vitals and heart monitor, as well as the IV drip connected to my arm. I tried to move it. Make a sign to tell her that I was indeed alive. I could n't even twitch my fingers. She looked like she was almost done and was about to leave. She did n't want to be in the room longer than necessary. I tried speaking. All that came out was a stifled croak, but that grabbed the nurse's attention. She looked at me. She let out a startled yelp and dropped her clipboard. I do n't know what the usual reaction is when someone comes out of a coma, but at that time all I could see on her face was fear. I attributed that to the fact that I probably surprised her. I soon found out the meaning of her glare. She dashed out of the room. Moments later she came back with a doctor. He stopped for a bit on the threshold of the room hesitating to enter. Not even half a second, but you could tell. He walked up to the curtains first and pulled them open. The light of day harsh, but welcome on my newly opened eyes. The doctor approached my bed now. `` Welcome back Jeff. You've been in a coma for a long time now. Three years.'' His tone was professional and dry. `` Rest for now.'' he said. `` Do n't force yourself.'' Apparently, the effort with the nurse somehow tired me immensely and I could feel that the little energy that I could muster was all used up. I closed my eyes, and let the darkness take me in again, the haze settling back, as if retaking its rightful territory. Before I fell asleep, I heard fragments of the doctor and the nurse whispering. `` Should we... notify his family?'' asked the nurse. I could make out the doctor's flat tone. `` We have to.'' When I woke up again. The same nurse was at my side. She had assumed a mask of professionalism, much like the doctor's. Day by day I was regaining strength, with the help of this neutral looking woman. However, it was n't until a week after I had first opened my eyes that I received my first visit. Well I was n't going to be too harsh on them. Three years was a long time, and everyone probably has something they need to do. My mother was the only one who came to visit. She looked at me from the opened door my immense room. In her face I saw conflicting emotions. Her face did n't change, but her eyes could n't decide on an emotion. After a few seconds of us just staring at each other I could n't take it anymore. `` Hey mum.'' I said. Her mask of indecisiveness finally broke, tears started flowing down her cheeks, and she leapt towards me to take me into an embrace of maternal warmth. I could not tell if her tears were tears of joy or sorrow. With what I know now, probably both. 
 
 Apparently, a lot has changed in the three years I was gone. Mum told me all about it. What I had missed on. They invented a new type of microwave which could reheat your food in half the time, and some kind of cream that always adjusted with your skin color. I noticed during our conversations however that she tried to avoid looking right at me. She was always looking towards the side of down at her hands, or towards the window. Even when the curtains were drawn. Not just her either. A lot of the hospital staff did n't come into my room, and the door was almost always shut. I brought up the subject and my mom informed me of the biggest change of all. While I was gone, something happened which allowed everyone to see what who everyone else was in their past life. I for some reason, could not see the others' past lives, but they could see mine. I asked her what she saw. She looked at me as if I had just struck her. She ran out the room. Holding back tears. I asked the doctor. He told me. In his flat professional tone he told me about the ghost of my past life that hung on me and I understood then. As time passed and I started walking again, my mom came back to visit from time to time, but we never spoke about the ghost again. We reached a sort of understanding. We would not talk about it. I thought that if we could all ignore it, the ghost would go away, and we could go back to living life before I went into a coma. I trusted that people could look past the past and see the present. Of course, I could n't have been more wrong. 
 
 After a month or two, I was released from the hospital. My old apartment had been rented out to someone else, so I moved in with my mom again. None of my friends came to visit me when I was in the hospital so I took the hint. A lot changed. My old job would n't take me back. I applied to other places, but all would turn me down as soon as they called me in for the interview. Everywhere I walked now I could I could hear whispering behind me. I could bear with the whispering. I could bear with the looks people gave me on the street as I walked anywhere. Disgust, distrust, fear. These were the feelings I saw on the faces I walked past. Some would try to mask it but sure enough the whispering started as soon as my back was turned. No one would look at me of course. The ghost of my past self permeated me. I could bear it, with difficulty I could bear it, but there were some things I could n't bear. Watching my elderly mother try to wash off the graffiti off the wall of the home I grew up in was one of them. DIE it said. 
 
 I knew who I was. I was Jeffrey Knick. Born 23 years ago on June the 7th. But something else happened on June the 7th. Ten years before my birth this country was plagued by a serial killer we've never seen before. He specifically targeted kids with caring parents. Infanticide was nothing new, but him, he was a special kind of fucked up. He liked to play with his victims before killing them. He would keep them alive for days. Sending parts of them to the parents. A finger, a hand, an arm, a leg, and at the end he would send a recording of all the fucked up shit he did to the kid both to the parents and the the net. On it you could hear his victims useless screams as they begged him to stop. He just smiled towards the camera. A butcher's knife in hand. Eventually the screams died out. And on the screen we could only see a bloody pulp of what had once been human. He still had fun with the pulp afterwards. He did n't hide his face. He always smiled gleefully. A nation wide hunt was in effect for ten years. Everybody knew his face, but, the number of victims kept increasing. One every year. He was patient and smart. A combination that proved deadly. When they found him he was shot on sight. Every police officer on the scene fired every single shot they had, reloaded and fired again. Just to make sure. It was as if they knew that he could not be allowed to live. That he was not human. A demon that did not belong in this world. Even today, his likeness is synonymous with fear and hatred. The day he died was the day I was born. 
 
 Reincarnated into this new life I enjoyed a peaceful and normal life. I followed the law, I did n't get drunk, did n't smoke, got A's and B's, graduated with honours, I never even got a goddamn parking ticket, hell I do n't even *like* porn! Now this happened. A year passed. I tried to endure. No one wanted me here anymore. No one. 
 
 I held the gun to my chin. One shot would do it. There was no place for me here anymore. As I clenched the trigger I thought of my mother. I thought about how relieved she would be. 
 
 Edit: some grammar
