Through the Fabric

 My name is Lizzie. I'm dead.

I'm not going to beat about the bush and force feed you an hour's worth of nonsense; I just can't be bothered to lie to you. I suppose it's okay, death I mean. You'd be surprised how chilled and easy everything becomes for you once you have bitten the proverbial dust. Honestly, although it's a bit of a culture shock, it's pretty easy to carry on "living" without... well, living. Trouble only starts to arrive when you wanna see the people you've left behind. You're popularity certainly goes through the roof with both those above and under the ground. In fact, I've had tea and scones with Kurt Cobain twice in the past 3 weeks. But being prised from people, no matter what age you are, leaves an open wound that you simply can't ignore.

I should explain. Clearly, as you are alive, you do not know what it is like to be a dead person. This seems to be a common trait amongst those in the land of the living, so I will forgive you on account of this. Most things are the same. Imagine a world exactly the same as the one you live in, except without anyone that is currently alive. Instead, the world is filled with countless dead people, all happy, all "living" to a certain extent, with no fear of ageing or unhappiness. The only downside, is that although you can see and hear the people you've left behind, they can never see or hear you. And if you reach out to touch them, its like you're reaching through the folds of a thin cotton blanket. Although you're skin and theirs are barely a millimetre apart, you can never reach them. You're hand just stops there, suspended in the air, and no matter how much you strain, there's no way that you can break the invisible barrier between the two of you. You can fly to the moon but you still can't touch the stars.

This is were the term "being there for someone" really comes into play. For people like me, it literally means that, because that's all we can be. So this isn't a story about what happened to me, but rather a story about the people through the fabric: the ones that I couldn't reach. I'll introduce you to them as best as I can, though it's difficult to completely describe something to another person. It's like someone asking what parsnip tastes like and you replying, "It tastes like parsnip."  But I promise to try my best to do them justice. They deserve it after all.

Chapter 1: Erin, 2 Months Before

I'll start by telling you something that I didn't know about Erin before everything that happened. Turns out Erin's been seeing a shrink for a little over a year now. I know she was struggling for a long time before I died. After we'd finished college the two of us had bought a sweet little apartment cheap off of her Aunt. It's a lovely place, with the plaster painted front door leading into shabby but warm living room, and another small staircase at the other end of the room leading up to our bedrooms and a strange lime green bathroom with a sea shell toilet seat. Erin loved it, the whole idea of being completely independent left her giddy with excitement. But it also left her sick with fear.

I met Erin when we were 13. I was lonely and she was confused, and we latched onto each other like limpets. She was a messed up kid for sure. For someone who had grown up in such an uneventful life she was so fitful and unsure, and yet so desperate for change. The first time she ever really spoke to me about the way she felt about herself was on the first day of college, sat together in our first ever history lecture, not feeling particularly excited about the prospects of the next one and certainly not concentrating. She'd looped her Mahogany coloured locks into a messy bun that drooped at the back of her neck, with her fringe hanging limply in front of her moss green eyes, and was looking exhausted.

"What are you thinking?", I'd whispered to her, leaning on my elbow so as I could whisper without making it blatantly obvious that I didn't care what the Professor was saying.

"What?", she said, removing the pen that she had balanced between her teeth and looking at me.

I shrugged. "You just seem a little preoccupied today. More so than usual."