Dimensions

All humans live in the 3D universe, they can see 1D, 2D and 3D shapes. However, they cannot see any dimensions beyond that.

My name is Zayken Phisholidocus, and I live in the fourth dimension, the path between the living and the dead.

A lot of science is involved to understand every dimension. When a living human from the third dimension dies, they become a different shape entirely...a different being. The fourth dimension is a strange place, it’s like a window to the third dimension. Us Fourths can see the Thirds, but they can hardly ever see us; unless they are tuned into their sixth sense.

The sixth sense is something every baby has, but as a human matures, they develop beliefs, and their sixth sense often fades away.

Have you ever noticed a baby turn its head away from you or a toy and look to space, an empty area where no being is. Chances are that is a being from the fourth dimension looking over you.

Just like in the third dimension, Fourths can be evil or bitter about their death and attempt to harm others in the third dimension; mostly for the fact, the Fourth is envious of Thirds free living.

The 4D world is a mirror image of Earth. It’s almost like a different layer placed over the top of the third dimension. However, the fourth world is restricted. We can visit our loved ones or the ones we hated, but there is a price. When a deceased enters the 3D world, someone who is human must pass to the fourth world. There is a fine balance between the living and the dead. It’s the same for if a baby is born. Once the baby breaths its first breath of air, someone, somewhere, will take their last breath.

Now the basics of the two dimensions are covered, I will explain how I, Zayken Phisholidocus became an official civilian of the fourth dimension.

I never was a good human; I enjoyed the pain of others. My whole childhood was spent pushing classmates over or making someone cry with my harsh words. My mother was always worried I would turn out like my father, a cold-hearted psychopath. I relished in that thought. My heart would flutter at the thought of my face being on Crimewatch, as one of the most wanted. My last thought as a living teenager was, "I don't like my own blood as much as others."

My father was in prison for a hit and run incident. My mother was a constant worker, she wanted to escape the fact that her husband had murdered three people, and that her son was verging on being the spawn of his father. She wanted to show society that she was a strong woman; she could still go to work and win someone’s court case, even though her own life was a spiral of lies and deceit. I was an only child. I never met any of my other family. My mother’s side disowned her, when she continued a relationship with my father, even though he was rude and violent. My dad grew up in a trailer on his own, from the age of thirteen.

The day I died was almost a relief. I wouldn't hear those cruel voices in my head telling me to be evil anymore.

It was almost ironic the way I died. I crossed my empty street, to get to the ice-cream van on the other side. I got half way across the road when a red hatchback swerved round the corner, its breaks screeching, it hit straight into me.

I died in a hit and run.

Two other people died along with me.

I wonder if my father would understand the pain he caused now?