Trapped in the Afterlife

Chapter 1- Last Breath, First Touch (P.1)

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Seventeen is not as old as some might think. Actually, it's really young and you realize that even more when you stand in front of a horror movie scene where you are the main character. Problem is that movies and real life are very different: actors don't actually die.

I wasn't paying much attention at the time. I was aimlessly exploring the woods knowing I was far from the camp and that these woods were the deepest in this area. But I knew my way around; I had grown up in this camp every summer. After getting lost a few times, my parents eventually chose to buy me a watch with an inbuilt compass. I looked at my watch knowing that my parents weren't due back to the camp before late tonight.

I bent down to pick up another flower. This one was purple, with red dots spotting the petals. Some people would have avoided it thinking it was poisonous but there were no poisonous flowers in this forest. Every day, I picked a bouquet of flowers to adorn the table. Tonight, I was having supper alone so I chose my favourite flowers. When I stood back up, there was a man walking towards me. I looked around then at my compass knowing we were far from the camp or any village or road.

As soon as he lunged, I saw the look in his eyes and the knife in his hand and I knew I couldn't avoid it. I was done for. Oddly enough, I felt no pain. I guess that's what they call an easy death. I had heard so much about death; read so much about it that I knew the next step was to follow the white light, into the tunnel and into paradise or heaven. But it never showed up.

The man watched me empty myself of blood from the gash on the side of my neck. With a smile, he walked away. I stood there, watching my lifeless, bloodless body on the ground. Still, the light didn't come. I looked around, wishing for it but it never came and I stood there, unable to move. The sun rose and set many times. The bouquet my body held, folded itself back into the ground. Animals nibbled my corpse and I saw my skin darken and decay.

After a while of waiting, I lost count of days. I wasn't hungry, tired, hurting from standing or even bored. Was this what the life of a ghost consisted of? I watched as slowly, my body became unrecognizable, slowly revealing only bones.

Finally, they found me after what they claimed to be the second week of searching. What they found of me was only pieces of cloth hanging onto chewed up bones. The bouquet having returned to its natural fertilizer state and having never made it to a supper table to grace it with it's' beauty. As they moved my bones, I found that I could finally move but only within range of my remains.

I went to my funeral, watched my family cry and mourn my loss. I followed my body into the cremation oven. I sat in there and watched my body be burned to ashes. I wanted to cry but apparently, that wasn't an emotion ghosts were allowed to feel. When the flames were turned off and my ashes were dusted into a vase, I felt a link break down. I was free.

I kept wandering around my family, not wanting to be seen or heard but wanting to know how they were faring. My parents kept living and mourning until my mother gave birth to a little boy. My pictures were stored in an album in the dusty attic and replaced by my brother's pictures as he grew up. When my brother was old enough, they gave him a box with the last souvenir of me: my compass watch.

My parents sold the cabin in the forest where I died and bought a motor home. I often followed them on their voyages. Years passed, my brother got married, had three children and my parents died. I watched them walk happily into nothingness, without them seeing or hearing me.