(Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Torchwood in any way.)
Being dead isn't so bad. I mean, you never have to worry about starving to death or anything since you don't need food. Then again, I sort of miss eating; it was nice.
You've also got plenty of time to think things through. I'm starting to remember why I joined Torchwood in the first place. The world has never seemed so bright to me before.
I love to watch the many colors of the sky. I don't know why I've never been interested in that before. The colors of the stones dance before my eyes like I've never seen before.
Every time I look at something I go into shock, I know it. I'm a man who knows he's going to die soon and am drinking in everything. It seems unfair that Jack can live forever and I could have minutes, seconds.
What am I supposed to do with that time? I could be traveling the world, but her I am, doing the same as before my death. What else should I be doing?
Why should Jack get all that time? It's unfair, just like Hart said. Why can't he share that time with those of us who don't even have an eighth of his life?
He even gets a heartbeat. When I died there was nothing more. I'm like a zombie now. Jack dies and gets to come back fully alive, everything functioning properly. It doesn't seem to matter what happens; there he is, alive and well.
I'm more fragile this way, I suppose, but at least I don't have to worry about the pain. It's not like I'll bled out because of a cut, or freeze to death in the winter. The more nastier of creatures leave me alone too.
I suppose I'm one of them now though, aren't I? King of the Weevils and all. It's a little terrifying when even the gruesome aliens find you unnatural.
That's what I am though, right? Unnatural.