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I Am Dead
By S. L. Bynum
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Rated "PG" by the Author.
Thoughts of a ghost.
I am dead. I canít believe Iím really dead.
How did I die? Last thing I remember is being in my car, with the music blasting. Iíd just left the mall. All of a sudden, I saw headlights in front of me. They were so bright.
Now Iím standing beside my crushed car. My car. Itís a wreck! My dad will kill me!
No wait, he canít. Iím already dead. Thatís a relief.
But, Iím dead! I mean, I have to be dead. Iím staring at my body, which is still in the mangled car. There is no way I could still be there, but be standing here also, unless I have a twin I donít know about.
Someone is coming this way! I wonder if can they see me.
Hey, you! What is going on?
Okay, I am definitely dead. That person just walked right through me. I must be a ghost.
A ghost! Can you believe that?
The person, who I realize is a woman with short black hair, is checking the pulse of my body. She realizes I am dead. Well, I could have told her that. If only she could hear me.
The woman is rushing over to the other car. The man in there is moving, and he doesnít seem to be in bad shape.
The darn bastard who killed me is alive and well, without a scratch.
I now hear the ambulance. I wonder what my parents will think. They will be devastated. If only I could communicate with them somehow. But Iím dead, and Iím a ghost.
Okay, so now what? Am I supposed to still be here? Arenít I supposed to go to heaven or hell now? Did I get stuck here? Did God decide Iím not bad enough to go to hell, yet not good enough to go to heaven?
In life, I didnít believe in ghosts. Now I guess I have to. Unless Iím a spirit. Or is that the same thing as a ghost?
The people from the ambulance are rushing to my car. They are finding out there is no need to try and keep me alive. I am dead.
Okay, I mustnít panic. Can ghosts panic? Maybe Iím dreaming this whole thing. But it feels so real. I donít think I am dreaming. Iím nightmaring.
Is that a word? Why do I even care? Iím dead!
The police are here. They are saying a drunk driver hit my car head on.
Dumb drunk. Look what you did to me. You killed me and now Iím stuck on earth as a ghost, and I donít know where to go.
I never even got to get drunk. I was only eighteen when I died, and I still am.
I wonder can ghosts drink alcohol. Thatís a stupid thought to ponder.
Well, what should I do now? Why isnít there some kind of ghost guide around here to tell me what to do?
And now Iím hungry. Are ghosts supposed to be hungry? Thatís weird. So now Iím a hungry, confused ghost.
What am I supposed to eat? Is there a such thing as ghost food? What if I canít eat? What if I stay hungry forever? Iíll starve to death!
No, Iím already dead! I keep forgetting! Arrg . . .
Okay. Iíll just wait here. But it is getting cold. Iím shivering. Ghosts donít get cold, do they? Why didnít I read more about ghosts when I was alive?
Great, now Iím a hungry, confused, cold ghost.
I need to think. What do I know about ghosts? Think, think . . .
Ah ha! Ghosts donít go to the afterlife until they complete their unfinished business on earth. Well letís see . . . I never finished my English paper. I never finished cleaning my room. I didnít finish that jigsaw puzzle. Somehow those donít seem important to this situation.
Okay, forget that. Um . . . ghosts can fly. I think.
Nevermind. Iím afraid of heights.
Hey, I see someone. It is a woman dressed in white. An angel? She is looking right at me. She is motioning me over.
Ah, I do have a guide after all. What took her so long?
I glide over to her. Whoa, Iím gliding above the ground. Neat.
The angel grabs my hand and leads me into a white light.
Iím going to heaven after all! I hope there is food in heaven . . .
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