My hands can touch everything but themselves.
Seriously.

I can feel, I can move fingers, I can feel my feet doing a hangman’s tango, but…I can’t touch myself, I can only feel parts moving, I can’t reach up and feel my face, or see if there’s any shards of mirror in me.
There has to be. That’s what killed me, I know it was.
It could be some form of phantom limb syndrome, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be this detailed.
She curled her fingers, feeling the first sensation in…a second, a millennia, an hour, however long it had been.
Sensation meant she wasn’t just a floaty brain in a jar. Unless she was imagining sensation.
Unless she was imagining thought.
All of this could be a hallucination with no one having the hallucination. Thoughts spiralled out from-
You’re being stupid.
She curled her fingers, and felt them go through where her palms should be.
The stretched and continued to move, seeking and feeling coldness long after they should have-
Fingers aren’t that long!
There was a weird snapping sensation as her fingers pulled back, feeling to be the proper length again.
She stretched them, doing the hand-equivalent of star jumps, and then curled them again.
Palms. There should be palms. Fingers would touch palms and they would stop. Because that’s what happened with people. With real people. With living people.
And she had to be alive. Had to be. She was thinking. She could feel.
You couldn’t do those things without being alive.
She felt the pads of her fingers against her palms.
Oh fuck yes!
Slowly and more carefully than she’d ever done anything in her life, she unclenched the loose fist, then lifted her hand and aimed it for where her other arm should have been.
With the concentration of…someone who had to concentrate very hard, she grabbed her arm.
She slowly ran her fingers up and down her arm, sometimes feeling suit, sometimes feeling skin. She found her tie, and held onto it for a moment, before it disappeared, and her hand slipped onto her chest.
There was no mirror, only suit.
She ran her hand lower, resting it on her stomach. The suit fabric disappeared, and she felt her scars.
Scars that were hurting.
Who the fuck am I, Harry Potter?
You can feel pain. Interesting. Very interesting. Why would a dead person feel pain?
Pain in the afterlife, that kind of sucks.
[table id=15 /]