The Death of Colleen Rivers

Chapter 1: Colleen

Wanna hear a funny story? Well, it isn't that funny. I mean, it wasn't funny at first, but now that I look back on this whole incident, I think it's hilarious.

This is the story of how I died.

I told my family good night, then went to sleep. That was the last time I saw my family. That was the last time I saw my pet. That was the last time I was in my house. That was the last time that I slept in my own bed. That night was the last night that my life was actually normal. That night was the night I died.

I wish I could have told my family I loved them that night. I even wish I told my annoying older brother I loved him. But no one in that stupid house was happy that night. No one told anyone the words, "I love you," although I wish they did. That would have made my last night at home seem more pleasurable and peaceful.

But that didn't happen.

What did happen was a fight between my family and I, which ended in myself slamming my bedroom door and angrily falling asleep. I shut my eyes tight, thinking I was falling into a dream, when in reality, I was falling out of the world, into Death's arms.

The doctor who performed my autopsy reported that I suffocated. Either I suffocated myself on purpose or even accidentally, or someone murdered me.

"I just wish we could know for sure of what happened," my mother had said.

Well, you can't because even I don't know, I had thought.

"Me too," the doctor had agreed with my mother. "Me too..."

But how would I know about my autopsy and that conversation? I was dead, yes, but I was there. I was at my own autopsy and I was at my own funeral. I saw everyone who came to see my body lowered into a hole in the ground. (Well, when I put it that way it seems weird. But that's what it was. It was a weird event to attend.)

My mother and father were the closest to my casket, and the ones crying the hardest. My mother's face was hidden behind a black veil so no one could really see her tears but I knew they were there. My father put a comforting arm around her, trying to keep himself from crying.

My brother was next. James sat beside my mother, his head down. I approached him and could hear his sharp intakes of air in between his sobbing. His shaggy, dark hair-the same shade of mine-fell around his face, only long enough to barely reach his eyes when he dropped his head. Was this even my brother? He never acted this way.

Baylor was next. Gosh, he was still as hot as ever. I felt like crying myself when I saw him. My boyfriend wore his best tux to my funeral-the one he showed me that he was going to wear to our senior prom. His short blonde hair was spiked in the front as usual, and he had his black converses on. (He refuses to wear dress shoes. And frankly I think they look horrible on him.)

His blue eyes were red and puffy from crying. But Baylor never cried. Even when we saw the super sad movies that even I cried at. He never shed a tear. It was odd seeing him this way, but I was also glad he was crying over me. That showed me he really cared.

I put my arm around him and he jerked as if he could feel me touching him. He looked around and his eyes landed on mine for just a second before moving away, but I felt something. I didn't know if he could see me, but I needed him to. I needed him to realize I was here, but I didn't know how to get his attention.

No one else came over to stand beside Baylor, so I stood beside him and kept my hand on his shoulder for comfort. Sometimes he would twitch when I adjusted my hand on his shoulder, but he never turned to look at me again.

The funeral service went on, and everyone was crying by the end of it. Was I that big of a deal? I looked around the cemetery and saw many faces I didn't recognize. I wondered if they even knew me. I knew I couldn't have been this important when I was alive.