Sometimes, I look back and wonder if I should of just been left to die.  There are days I feel my existence has done more harm than good.  I know my mother would argue that I'm wrong until she turns blue, but then I would remind her of the day she found out I wasn't dead.  The day she discovered that little box of ashes wasn't her baby boy.  She was lied to for fifteen years.  

I'd also remind of how she had to quit her job that she loved to look after me.  At age fifteen, I barely had the maturity of a twelve year old.  I didn't even have any idea about how to live a normal, domesticated life.  She and my father had trouble keeping clothes on me, let alone having me sit at a table and use a fork to eat or even send me to school.  When I turned 16 and finally followed my two older sisters on to that bus, it caused both relief and anxiety for my mother.  She didn't have to look after me all day long.  

I did very well for quite a while and caught up with my age group quickly, and then it all fell apart.  We received a phone call saying that Stef had been taken in by someone and would soon be going to school with me.  At first, I was extremely happy.  Stef and I had grown up together, so most would think our relationship was similar to that of a brother and sister.  It's a much deeper bond than that.  

The only reason I was brought back from the dead was to save her.  She came from a very noble and powerful family, and she was born a sickly child; she was doomed to die within a week due to an extreme heart defect.  Her father, however, simply refused to have his daughter die.  If he could buy all the land and houses and fancy cars he wanted, why couldn't he pay to have his little girl live?  

So he set out to hire a doctor who could either keep her alive or find a way to bring her back if she died.  Only one was crazy enough to step up and take the job, and that was Dr. Nona.  She was a reject medical examiner known to be a necrophiliac and was overall obsessed with the grotesque and decaying.  She had been trying for years to find a way to bring the dead back to life, but could never get her procedures to work on the bodies she was able to obtain, for they had been dead far too long.  This affiliation with a powerful family could allow her "fresher" specimens to work with.  

It was elementary for her to then break into a hospital morgue.  Heck, she didn't even have to be sneaky about it at all and was there in broad daylight.  Considering that it was a baby she had to learn how to revive, she of course wanted a corpse of the same age.  I was the perfect candidate.  

That was the day of my birth, but I had technically died a week before.  My mother didn't even know until she went for what she thought was a routine checkup.  I was delivered immediately and sent over to the morgue, and there I laid on a table when Dr. Nona was searching.  Oddly enough, I kept having muscle spasms.  This intrigued her, thus I was chosen.  

It didn't take much for her to discover my cause of death: there was a hole in my heart, or more scientifically a ventricular septal defect.  She simply switched my heart with that of a another body from the morgue.  I then began showing more signs of life.  After a few more modifications, I was a living zombie baby.  

Stef's father was ecstatic when he found out Dr. Nona had succeeded.  Instead of waiting for Stef to die to repair her defects, she opted to try as soon as possible, for after removing my heart she found it could be repaired and reused.  Stef would thus receive my heart.  She died during the procedure, but was revived quickly.  She, however, didn't turn out as healthly, vibrant, and generally "normal" as I did.  Stef retained her pale complexion and as the years past her organs deteriorated one by one.  As each one failed, her father paid extensively for them to be repaired and replaced.  She died many times on the operating table, but she was never allowed to stay that way.