Somehow I didn't die. I couldn't move my body though... Except for my head. But days later I've discovered that I don't need food any more. But more than that, purely out of boredome, I found out that I don't really have to breathe.
I don't know the name of the man with the hatchet but I'm quiet sure it was my neighbour. Probably I should have learned it by now... Interesting... Is this the reason he'd visited me? Or it was just because I'm a loner and there's no one to care about my disapearance.
But that's not the point. He did what he did, and after that I had enough time to reconsider my life choices. It wasn't that hard after all cause I've learned that I can just ignore all the distracting stench of my decomposing body... well... by not breathing. I could see days and nights passing by outside the window. "Am I some kind of a medical marvel?" - I was wondering for a while but shortly enough I've become preocupied with thoughts about something... different. My hair, you see, it started to move on it's own. Like a living creature making it's first steps after being born. Clumsy at first the movments eventually had grown more and more elaborate. I would say intelligent.
It, my hair, tried to push against the floor. Theese attempts continued for quite a while but only it had succeded after my body matter has dryed out and lost a bunch of weight.
I've always admired the quality of my hair given me mostly by genes but still partially by the care I was giving it on a daily basis. I used to think of it as of mindless... ughm... rudimental continuation of myself, but now it seamed like it had mind of it's own.
My corpse slided against the wooden floor of the guest room. Tendrils of black locks were grasping onto every unevenness of the surface moving me forth and forth. I felt like I was taken to a journey. I've arrived... maybe an hour later... And there he was, sleeping solemnly. My killer. "Does he even know MY name" - rushed through my head. His wife screamed seeing my mummified remains climbing onto his side of the bed driven by rustling movements of my long hair. It slipped into his nostrils. It went into his mouth. She was screaming jamming herself into a corner of the room.
My eyes met his eyes as he gasped for air. I was shy at first but strangely enough it all felt right to me. I looked into his gouging eyes that were struggling to comprehend some kind of horror I wasn't able to understand at the moment mere inch from my face, maybe asking somewhat morbidly: "What?...".
I felt like I have to explain myself. I said: "Hi, I'm Bob."
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