[ WP ] A character reads an obituary , and is forced to decide whether or not to attend the funeral .

They were reading over his shoulder, again. He could feel them breathing on his neck as his fingers strangled the newspaper. 
 
 “ You need to see her. ” 
 
 He turned, panic swelling in his chest as he felt the same embarrassment as always rise in his cheeks. He hated being watched. 
 
 The newspaper fell to the floor, crumpled and moist from his sweaty fingers. He had read and reread the same paragraph over and over. His eyes ached and he wanted nothing more than a good night ’ s sleep. The pillow was so welcoming and he allowed his head to fall heavily into its embrace. 
 
 “ You can not sleep! ” 
 
 He bolted upright. Saliva caught in a ball in his throat as he tried to ignore their cries. Her face stared up at him from the noir pages on the floor. He leaned down, fingers brushing gingerly over her likeness. The funeral was in three hours. 
 
 “ Don ’ t be so afraid. You need to see her. ” 
 
 The sound of their grating voices caused him to bite his tongue in shock. Blood filled his mouth, swirling between his teeth. A drop of crimson struck her photo and he stood. His blood quickly soaked into the paper, staining her beautiful image red. Rage, like the shattering of an earthquake, came over him. 
 
 He had loved her so much. She was everything to him and he had killed her. 
 
 “ Go to her. ” 
 
 “ No! ” he screamed as he threw his desk chair onto the cement slab. It exploded into sharp pieces of plastic as he doubled over in the throes of emotional pain. “ Stop telling me what to do! ” 
 
 “ You need to see her! ” 
 
 “ Fuck you! ” he screamed again, falling to the ground as he slammed his forehead into the ground. The world spun as more blood trickled between his eyes from the new crack in his skull. 
 
 “ What do you think you are accomplishing? ” 
 
 His eyes widened in manic delirium as he grabbed the closest shard of plastic. Her wonderful, human face was smiling up at him from the nearly ruined newspaper as he shoved it into his neck. He stabbed himself over and over, losing count after twenty. 
 
 “ I can ’ t do it! I wo n't do it! ” he cried, blood gurgling from his throat. “ I-I can ’ t face her. ” 
 
 “ The only thing you can undo now is the damage to yourself…and you don ’ t even have a choice in that matter. ” 
 
 He opened his mouth to scream again but, this time, only tears came. The healing process had already begun and he felt his wounds begin to close. He never thought it would be so unfair to be immortal. 
 
 “ I never wanted to be like this, ” he muttered. 
 
 “ No one ever does, not intentionally anyway. ” 
 
 He ran a hand over his neck and felt smooth, ice cold skin. He was already whole again. The newspaper was still open before him, declaring the exact cemetery where her body would be laid to rest. If he hurried, he could still be there when she woke up. 
 
 “ Now, go to her. She needs you now more than ever. ” 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 “ There ’ s really nothing else to it, ” he breathed. “ I guess, I need to see her. ” 
 
 After all, it was only just that he, her creator, be the one to meet her when she reawakened. His kind were always doomed to such fates while the demons were simply right, in the end. 

