Drinking.<br/>Drinking and smoking and singing, "When the levy breaks," at the top of your lungs. All of this and more sat bare bottomed on the autumn cold, metal roof of the nearest parked van...<br/><br/>Yes, Clay reckoned that was<span style="font-style: italic"> probably </span>the most average, straight from the can reaction to his particular cheerful set of circumstances and he would have happily succumbed to it, like every other poor sod that ever woke up in a morgue... were he not... well, him.<br/><br/>The idea of drinking for a start knocked him violently ill.<br/><br/>He could imagine himself wandering into the nearest shop, flickering, fake phosphorescent lights lined up in dull dead-moth speckled tubes above the shelves buzzing irritably and sprinkling his skin cells with a billion potential gateways to cancer. THEN after the horrific experience of setting solitary, lonely foot in the establishment, came the joys of selecting your beverage of choice. He could weep bucket of joys....<br/><br/>Clay couldn't name a single beer, liquor or wine that didn't taste like something wrung out of an oily garage workers rag. That and he liked him as he was thank you very much, being<span style="font-style: italic">under the influence</span>never sounded all that fun to him, it was like peer pressure without the people! Not a rats chance in hell he was going to bossed around by something that came in a glass bottle called 'Frosty Jacks' or something equally stupid!<br/><br/>Shortly therein came payment... oh yes, the rust encrusted cash register, bejewelled with germs and stuffed with paper notes from dirty old drunks and the creepy woman behind it, fingernails suitable just for the Halloween season that you somehow knew she wore every other day too...<br/><br/>Clayton shuddered as much from disgust as he did the cold. The boys small knuckles turning blue from tension as he twisted his hospital gown between his clenched fists.<br/><br/>Christ alive it was cold. His head rolled back on his shoulders as he set his dead eyes on the inky cloud interrupted skies above him. They hadn't sprung back to life since he'd come back... they say you can see the lights bleeding from someone's baby blues after they copped it... Clayton ... he'd taken one look in the mirror after His Rude and Unexpected Awakening and nearly fainted for the sheer shock and horror of it.<br/><br/>His skin-- fuck, his skin resembled something from a sixties horror flick, white as bone and blossoming with bruise purples, blues and inky hues every here and there... his own lips cracked and broken, blood cleaned to the best they could at the morgue, but open tears congealing black... even the flesh of his tongue and gums... dark as death and a greying brown...<br/><br/>But the final kick in the gonads had to be his own eyes....<br/><br/>They moved sure, but it wasn't something human looking out at him.... He really did throw up.<br/><br/>And it didn't get better from there! Stitches, oh yes, unhealed wounds on his own scalp held together by big, fat, black ant-leg stitches... oh, he hadn't banged his head before they'd carted him into the hospital... it left one sickening question fresh on the tip of his tongue... what the fuck had they been doing inside his skull?<br/><br/>Brain surgery.<br/><br/>The blood went cold in his veins at the thought.<br/><br/>He'd died on the table for brain surgery...<br/><br/>His stomach turned.<br/><br/>Banishing the thoughts from the cogs of his mind, Clayton took in the street around him. It was a cosy little affair, black asphalt and cute family vehicles nestled in the drives. It was the usual, the kind of thing he used to live in, back in ... the alive days? He felt an eyebrow hop up a level or two... was he dead? Really?<br/><br/>Another brutal shudder racked his poor frame as another cold breeze snuck up the gap in his gown. He really,<span style="font-style: italic">really</span>should have grabbed some clothes before he ran... at least then he wouldn't have been standing there pinching the back of the gown together so the cruel, innocent world didn't peek his pale, grey undead behind.... How on earth could he still feel humiliated by this?! He had so much worse to worry about!!<br/><br/>What about his family!?<br/><br/>His friends??<br/><br/>He tried to muster up a nugget of care, but alas, the lack of unrevealing garments still took priority in some twisted portion of his mind...<br/><br/>Life-- shit, no-- death sucked....<br/><br/><br/>((OOC: He's making his was to the graveyard for anyone interested in bumping into him, if not-- see you there guys!!  XD ))