happy pills ~a treebros ghost au~

the ghost on the roof

Stuff no one cares about (feel free to jump to the story): I was looking for a song in Spotify and ran into a playlist that had this song on it. I don't think any of the other songs really stuck but this one did and got more and more relevant in my life as my mental health got worse. I've always had this image in my head when I listen to this song and it's Connor (or someone Connor-esque) wearing a smiley face mask and crying from underneath it. This image could also apply to Evan, I guess. Anyways, I wanted to have another system for covers and titles than for the lams books and this song came to mind so yeah. That's our vibe now.

Love y'all, have a nice read,
Starii

—~•~—

Being a ghost sucks, I can't do anything fun. It's really not as cool as it's portrayed in stories, you just kinda walk around, not transparent at all, yet no one can see you... so just like being alive. You've gotta walk everywhere too, you can't drive a car if you can't affect the steering wheel or pedals, not that I'd want to drive a car. I could catch the bus, but where would I even go? I could go home I guess but I think it'd be too painful to see, I couldn't do that to myself. Myself. Prioritizing myself is new but it's not like there's anyone else to prioritize, is there? I seem to be the only ghost in this town. Maybe I just can't see the others? Maybe they all left. It is pretty boring just walking around.

At one point I went to school but it was still closed, it being summer and everything. I ultimately figured out I could sit on top of the school if I put a little effort in. Fun fact: having no weight whatsoever (yes I checked) helps you climb the side of buildings. I sat on the roof and looked at the town. I was born here, I lived here and I died here. Seems fitting someone unremarkable should have such a boring story. What do you think they'll put on my grave? "Died because he was too weak to handle barely any of what some people deal with daily" that seems about right. Who would even show up? My mom, she might make my dad... I can't think of anyone else who'd bother to act sad about my death.

It's been a week, seven days, since the accident. Since I died. In a few weeks school will start and they'll inform the students I'm dead. Not that anyone will care. I didn't have any actual friends. Maybe some people will pretend to care, but no one will actually miss me. This isn't a theory, this is a fact. My mom'll be sad, I guess, but she doesn't—didn't really know me enough to miss me. The image I presented is so much better (and that's not saying much, I was the worst kid), if she saw the real me she'd hate it too.

I'm not even sure how it happened, that's how pathetic it is. I know I was drowning in... everything. Everything was too much and I saw an easy way out. Not the best way out, I'm pretty sure I knew it wouldn't be a long term solution (or even much of a good short term one) but it was worth a shot. Then it went wrong. And here I am now, sitting on top of a school that never liked me or people like me.

God, I am pathetic. Not even 'was', I haven't stopped. Even death can't fix me. So damn pathetic. I mean, if there was an award it would go to me: Mark Evan Hansen, fell from a tree like a sloth cause he got overwhelmed by basic things and tried to climb away from his problems. Not a very spectacular award. Quite the opposite in fact, but that's me in a nutshell. Like always, never inspiring anything, never making decisions, never affecting anyone in any way. Just meh. Never even eh?.

I look at the town, cul-de-sacs and roads and stores and schools and hills and people milling about and then there it is: Ellison park. Where I had some of the best times of my life and where I died. Kinda ironic if you think about it, the only place really I felt alive was also the last place I'd ever be alive.

I look for one particular place though I'm not even sure where it's located: Zoe Murphy's house. I've never actually spoken to her or anything, I just saw her jazz band perform and she was so perfectly normal in the unique not-trying-to-be-different-but-not-trying-to-not-try-either way. I wanted to talk to her, be all cool and stuff, but my hands were too sweaty. Or at least, I thought they were. They were probably fine. Until I tried to dry them, then they were just warm and sweaty and that's basically just damp and no one wants to shake someone's hand if they have damp hands so ultimately I left and I never got a chance to support Zoe. Horrible. Yet I still look for her, because she was the only thing I had in life, the only one I could look forwards to seeing even if it was just in the hallways.

I stand up on the roof and shift from leg to leg, waking them up again after having been sat on. The sun is setting but that has no impact on my ghosty self, I can get not a wink of sleep and coast through the day.

Then I decide to go home for the first time since my death.