**Goodbye, Norma Jeane by Daphne P Snow**

_This story is inspired by the song Candle in the Wind (1973 version) by Sir Elton John._

_Shit, _she cursed_.  _

_Shit, shit, shit, _she continued, trying to rouse the figure on the bed. 

She studied the figure laying on the bed, naked, with the telephone receiver in hand, the cord stretched all the way from the bedside table. There was no rhythmic rise and fall of breathing. No pulsating neck blood vessels. No color indicating it still had life. 

Norma was staring at herself, died. Or was she?

Yes, She had to be dead. That was the only explanation for why she was having this out of body experience. She felt a chill, oddly. Her body was on the bed and what she supposed was her soul, a body-less mass, her consciousness or whatever it was, was now looking at her lifeless body on the bed. 

All she wanted was sleep. She had not meant for this to happen. She was exhausted from the rigorous schedule she had kept for the last several years, and she wanted to rest. Unfortunately for her this time, the cocktail of drugs she took tonight were just the wrong combination. This was a surprise as she had taken the same amounts in the past before with no ill effect. Probably the drugs had a different impact because she had not been feeling completely herself lately. 

She had tried to call for help once her brain alerted  her that maybe she took too much medications tonight. 

She wasn’t bothered by the fact that she was dead. What bothered her the most though was that even in death, her body will continue to be sexualized, objectified, scrutinized. 

She liked to sleep in the nude. She liked the feel of cool sheets directly on her skin. It made her feel alive. Oh the irony. 

For a brief moment, she felt saddened by that. But,  it was a brief reminder. Slowly,  relief washed over her when she remembered that she no longer had to do press junkets; deal with movie executives who touched her without her permission like they owned her body; or deal with the gut wrenching loneliness of being a sex symbol for an entire nation. 

She wished she could cover herself. She could imagine the headlines once the news of her death broke. She knew it would be less about her death and more about HOW her body was found. 

She whispered, _Goodbye Norma Jeane_ and left the room.