I am not in my body. An Automatic Consolidation Unit has pushed me out and I am watching from somewhere in the ether. I can’t make a sound, I can’t feel anything I touch, and I am losing all hope of getting back in.
Whoever has unwittingly stolen my body is living my life better than I could. She is achieving, earning, loving, and is loved. Her body was diseased and discarded, and since I have contracted a soul sickness that has no cure, we were marked as donor matches.
My consent was not sought due to my judgement being considered unreliable; her consent was impossible due to flatlining of the brain.
I cry out for the shaman and he comes, loyal creature that he is. But the nail in my coffin is finding he is as formless as I, and together we are nothing but purple mist.