Haunted (A Justin Bieber Fanfiction)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Story Note: "I don't think the curiosity will ever go away."

I needed some practice.

I lower my left hand over the football that was sat in front of me. I remember me and my brother used to play football all the time ever since we were kids. During high school, we would play for our school’s team. I was always the quarter back of the team back then. It always made me wonder if I, Justin Bieber, was the actual one our coach picked as quarterback of the team. After all, Jax and I were identical. Maybe it was him he caught sight of. We were both fair players though.

Me and Jackson would always go to our school’s field and just fool around. We'd tackle each other, fetch, and play catch. When I died, that of course came to an end. I miss playing. It may sound quite cruel or some sort but, I miss the rough tackles and dodges I’d receive from the other players and sometimes, even my fellow teammates. I miss the sweat that would tickle my flesh, the cool wind that would pass through my mask and onto my face while playing the game… all of it.

I dream of the day I would get to grab hold of this ball again and get to throw it in the air as hard as I can. The adrenaline I’d feel as I’d run away from the other players. I focused hard on the ball and reminisced back to the day when I first played football. We learned it from our dad. I think we were about ten years old when we first learned how to play.

I died when I was 17 years old, 3 months after my birthday. My death didn’t turn out good for my brother though. I was all he had left, family-related. We have an uncle in Los Angeles who funded our school tuition fees and as for our bills and food necessities, was all on me and Jax. It isn’t that much work though since we had our business with the boys. Jax dropped out of the group ages ago. But since I was his brother, he was still in on all the mishaps we provoked.

I died in my sleep. I always thought my death was so dim-witted. I imagined dying getting stabbed or shot. Maybe even getting run over by some truck or something but no. I’m not implying that death is supposed to be cool. Although, on the night I died, I felt a little bit hazy. All I remember was meeting a couple of people at a bar and going home not drunk, but fuzzy. All I could do when I got back home was limp over to my room and when I reached my bed, I dropped onto it and fell asleep. But it looked more like I fell to my death instead of my sleep.

I may never know the who and the how because the night of my death always appeared like a blur to me. I barely remember anything from my life, truth be told. I remember the some of the good parts, and so little of the bad parts. Which is a good thing. Maybe that adds up to one of the perks of being dead. You won’t have to spend your afterlife mourning over your life. The life before you died.

But I don’t think the curiosity will ever go away.

I shake my head clearing my thoughts away, not wanting to lose my focus. I take in a deep breath and lever my hand over to the ball. I close my eyes and near my hand even closer to the ball. I feel myself touching something solid. I peer open my eyes and couldn’t believe the sight that I was seeing. I was holding the ball.

I grasp it in both of my hands, still astonishing the fact it was in my hands. And I could feel it. This isn’t anything like touching the sandwich or the door knob. This was my lifelong hobby and passion in my hands. I hear my brother come in the door and I turn around.

“Yo, catch!” I say to him enthusiastically as I accelerate the ball and throw it at him.

He catches it swiftly and stares at it with shock written all over his face. He looks at it and then at me a few times and finally speaks.