[ WP ] You find a dead body in one of the dumpsters at your apartment complex . It looks exactly like you . You are n't a twin .

`` I'll take out the trash tonight, honey. Tonight is going to be record cold, after all. I love you.'' I said as I walked out the back door. I really do n't like the cold, I thought to myself. I ca n't wait until this work contract is up and we can go back to the beach. Tonight was not helping. 
 
 
 It's too bad the trash bins are on the other side of the world, I continued to myself. It had snowed the night before, and it looked like I was the first one to brave the trek to the dumpsters since. As usual, nobody had shoveled the snow. -47 degrees seemed to put the world in a trance, I noted as I trudged through the snow. This was the first time we have lived in the snow. Wisconsin did not hesitate to give us the full winter experience. No thanks, I continued in my mind. I could feel my skin becoming numb to the cold around me as I passed the halfway mark. 
 
 
 `` You know, this really is n't so bad, once you get the first few weeks over with'' I said audibly to myself above the light breeze. The snow is sort of beautiful, in its own way. The overcast sky above reflected the lights of the town; the grey and white tones everywhere reflected light almost as bright as twilight. The beauty of the scene around me engulfed me. Winter was becoming beautiful to me. `` Funny'', I said to myself, knowing the beauty would n't last, but welcoming it nonetheless as it made my trash run more pleasant. 
 
 
 I was finally there. I opened the slightly ajar lid, hefted the trash bag, ready to throw it in, when I saw something in the dumpster that made my heart jump like an earthquake hit it: me! I calmed myself quickly, took a second look, and my heart jumped again. There I was, laying in the trash, lifeless, cold, and frozen. I looked around me and saw nobody, although I'm sure somebody heard my yelp. Was this some cruel prank? I stepped on my trash bag, now lying on my feet, for a closer look, maybe somebody went to elaborate lengths to make a dummy. I got close to my own face and saw my own scars. This is surreal. I could not take my eyes off of myself. 
 
 
 I finally gathered myself and reached out to touch my face, going for my eyebrow first; as I made contact, I could feel nothing. I realized I had n't felt the cold for some time, which is odd for a record cold. Then it hit me with a weight I could never prepare myself for: I am dead. Thoughts flooded my mind; my first thought was a rapid dawning that being deceased meant I would be separate from my wife, with the deep, profound horror and pain accompanying a loss I was not ready for. I could not spend enough time with her in a thousand years, but despite this, death had bid us part in just three short years! I ca n't accept this. I took off at a run toward her, but the snow which had moments ago been a beautiful thing now impeded my sprint, and I could not move my body. 
 
 
 I began to cry, but no tears came out. My emotions flared up in anguish, knowing my sweet wife did not yet know the tragedy that had befallen us. I was on my hands and my knees in the frigid, accumulated water, but I could not feel the cold. I could feel nothing, but I felt more pain than I could ever before even fathom. I heard someone approaching, leaving fresh footprints in the snow through which I had hiked minutes before. As the person came closer, I recognized my beautiful Whitney underneath the snow clothes. I ran toward her, yelling `` No! No!'' frantically, in vain trying to prevent her from seeing what would be worse to her than it would be for me. I looked back at the dumpster, seeing for the first time the drops of blood running down the side, dark crimson against dumpster green, shimmering dully against the light of a distant street light. I noticed it, but she would not yet, not until she reached the bin. I despaired as I watched her walk, transfixed by her beauty, dreading her reaction, rooted to the spot, unable to move, make noise, deter, distract, show affection, embrace her, cry, prepare her for the horrid scene that awaited her momentarily, almost dizzy from the emotions and thoughts swirling inside of me like an awful tempest, contrasted heavily against the calm, chilly breeze outside. Maybe she would go look for me elsewhere! After all, my footprints had been erased, maybe she would realize I had n't been to the dumpster. Nobody had in almost 24 hours. How my body was there, I do n't know. 
 
 
 As she approached the dumpster, she let out an audible gasp and broke into a jog; she had seen the blood. I ca n't bear to watch, but I ca n't turn my gaze from the girl for whom I care so completely. I heard a whisper above her footsteps saying, `` blood? why?'' I ran toward her and reached her as she put her hand on the lid of the dumpster. I said `` do n't open it!!!'' in exasperation, but to no avail. She was opening it as I slowed down next to her. I saw the light hit first my foot, and I saw the panic begin to spread across her face. She tiptoed and looked into the dumpster, full of dread. I saw her face as realization dawned upon her, horror spread across her face, she shreaked, louder and with more anguish than I had ever before seen or heard from her, and as she shrieked, everything went blank, whether black or white, I can not tell, but the scene before me faded from my consciousness, and it was over. I saw no more.
