Morituri te Salutamus

Chapter 2

Oblitus (Forgotten)

DON'T REMEMBER ME

Second in Line

My Awakening caused disruption in Westgate. Sure, a student at the high-school commits suicide, but then we lose the Valedictorian to a car accident? I guess they all thought it was purely coincidental at the time. To this day, my whole neighborhood probably still believes it too. Once upon a dream, I might've too, if I hadn't died. Funny how life loves to put you in that hard spot. Tenebris says I just have the one in a million chance of getting all the good luck for the longest time, and then abruptly die of bad timing.

Don't tell Tenebris, but I don't remember much about my life. All I know is I was Valedictorian of my graduating class, I had a 1967 Chevy Impala, and got run off a bridge after my best friend's engagement party. My aura is pale blue, but other than that, my physical appearance is lacking in detail. There's a new description for every Awakened I meet. Sometimes, I'm a towheaded, lanky basketball player, and the next day I'll be a muscular, brunet running-back. In all truth, I was an average teenager with icy azure eyes and grey-brown hair that hung around my eyebrows. I guess girls were attracted to me, but I wasn't ever too worried about the mainstream "Who's Hooked Up With Who?" game. That is, until I saw her. It doesn't matter though. She never caught my glances.

I doubt the first part of this story told you much yet about the Awakening, only the fact that you must die first, right? Good. First things first, when you wake up, you're still here, on Earth. It's just everything else that changes; imagine it as being a ghost, but you aren't exactly invisible to everyone. The occasional child sees you, and all animals do too. You keep a certain amount of memories, differing from person to person. I only have a few, while others have their whole lives memorized. The only thing left is an aura in the shape of your silhouette; it helped me to think of it as someone standing behind textured glass, their faces distorted and blurred.

Imagining spending the rest of time seeing your friends, family, and strangers without being noticed or ever again told 'I love you'. Most Awakened fade out of existence from the sheer grief of being an outsider. Not like a wind that blows you away, rather like they're out of your sight one moment, and never seen again. It hurt more to see them fade than to actually be the one experiencing the pain. 'Maybe they'd get a second chance', we'd think the next time one disappeared, but we all knew those who vanished were never seen again, not even by the creatures in the real world.

The night I died was, as I said, my best friend Michael's engagement party. He lived out in the rural part of town where most folks drive past the speed limit and use up the whole road. No one would've thought a teenage kid would be out that late, right? You couldn't blame them. Anyway, the wedding was going to be the next spring, and I was to be the Best Man. We'd been friends since third grade, inseparable. Even when we were, the friendship was never questioned. At the party, all our buddies were hanging out. Contrary to popular belief, yes! Teenagers can be together and not get high on drugs, drunk on alcohol, or do something incredibly stupid without parental supervision. So, no, I was not intoxicated or under the influence while driving home that night. Maybe one mile above the speed limit, but that's it.

I was driving on the road, headlights on, when everything was in slow motion like in the movies. A harvesting truck was coming down the middle of the road, blaring its horn. The bridge couldn't fit both of us. The edge of the car was too close now to do a turn into the woods. It sounds selfless what I'm about to say, but it isn't. I accelerated forward and swung right, plunging into the thrashing river below. The guard rails weren't sturdy enough to absorb the shock and let me tear right through. At the time, my arms felt like lead and legs stuck to the seat. Windows were rolled down, so I was immediately submerged in the violent waters. Something stung terribly, the blood roaring in my ears. A red cloud thickened in the water, coming from my hand. My head throbbed. I suppose my head slammed against the roof. Yet, those last seconds were peacefully calm. Perhaps, this was what I wanted all along. Now, I don't know what I wanted.

It's funny to say this out loud, but I attended my own funeral. I wanted to know what people really had to say about me. Almost the whole town showed up, even the girl I had my eyes on at school. The local pastor talked about how death is only the beginning, and I had much more waiting for me. My mother and father were there, both sobbing their hearts out. Social Media has its way of starting trends, and it did so with my death. A hashtag became extremely popular. I don't know if it relates to my name or what activities I did, but it was #LockStrong. Who knows, maybe it was an incentive to install better window locks.

Do you ever hear about the people who kill themselves because of fame and publicity? After a while, I began to get frustrated. People were raising money for my parents (who evidently lost their jobs shortly after my death) and using me as their slogan. It's frustrating to think I've become their tag-line for advertisements. Can't you let me be dead? All these other people are dying and you're still on some grad student's death from six months ago. And the posters, flying in the alleyways, saying things like #NeverForget. Why do you keep trying to remember something as little as me? Stop holding onto the past and care about something more important.

So maybe I sound a little begrudging, but to have someone keep bringing up that one topic gets old quickly. I just want to be a memory, not someone's idol for their company. It was only nineteen years I spent existing in Westgate, and now they won't let me go. Living was bad enough, with everyone knowing my name and saying "he's going to be the big-shot from this town". It's too bad once you die, people start seeking answers. Unfortunate they looked too late.

Souls around here wish they could give one last good-bye to their family. To me, it's like I'll never stop saying hello. Westgate tries to grip onto the past and never let go, but what does that do for them? It only leads to them blindly allowing more youth becoming the Awakened far too soon than anyone should. All at the cost of one memorial. My only regret in life was not being able to say no to the publicity, because now I'm more famous than ever.