The Mental Diary of a Dead Man

The chirping birds just beyond the walls of his attic stirred the pale body from its location on the old chair. His head from his arm, hair flowing as if underwater as his dark eyes moved over the room. It was as dingy as he'd ever remembered it, the thick layer of dust barely shifting as he stood, stiff in his movements. Gregory extended his arms over his head, bones cracking as he bent back, a slow wheeze escaping his lips.