nostalgia after death

11:48

Us, the dead, wander around, not leaving any trace behind.

Some might call us ghosts but the living have stereotyped ghosts as devil's puppets, crawling monsters, and the things that keep you awake at night.

No, we are not demonic, or the monsters under your bed, we, are lost. Some of us cannot accept that they're dead and still live the life that was stolen from their grasp. Some cannot move on because they're waiting for another person to cross over with them. A special someone, a bond that death doesn't part.

Some do not pass on because back when they were still living, they couldn't do all the things they wished to do. Death gives them the opportunity to do that.

I, on the other hand, do not know why I'm still here. But I don't care. I cannot feel anything, anymore.

All of us had one thing in common, whenever it's our special day, our birthday, we get to be a little more human.

We can touch things, alter with stuff our unworldly bodies cannot do any other day.

Some tries to freak the living out, some tries to relive their lives and some tries to talk to the ones they left behind.

But I, on my special day, would make my father pay for the shit I went through. Just like how he made me pay for the stuff mom went through.

When I first opened the door to the living room, emptiness greeted me. As rich as we used to be, we hired no maid because mom didn't want me to be dependent. She said that even with all the money in the world, nothing can prepare you for what life has to offer. So she disciplined me. Became strict and the seventeen year old Elle thought that was useless and unnecessary.

I then passed by a series of photographs. Me, mom, and the man who used to be my dad. I was confused as to why I felt longing, like I want to go back to how things were.

Suddenly, my heart ached so bad that I couldn't breath normally. It tightened abnormally inside my ribs. I felt my fingers loosen around the precious framed photograph to the point that I dropped it and made a breaking sound.

"Who's there?"

I was still leaning for support on the counter when I heard footsteps coming towards me.

"Elle?"

His voice slurred, proving that he was drinking again. I admit that I expected that he'd stop, after what happened to me but I guess all expectations do not turn into reality.

"How? I-I," His face showed how shocked and scared he was. After awhile, he recovered then inched closer to me and tried to hold my hand but I moved away from him.

"Elle, you don't know how much I missed you. I am truly sorry for all the words I said. You-"

"It was never the words. It was how you made me feel. I lost mom, and I felt like I lost you too." I stated, unaware that my hands were shaking.

He looked shocked, even to the point that he said that this is just an illusion made by the liquor he happily drowned himself in.

I smiled resentfully.

"I had two years to think about it, whether to visit you or not, and I was still hesitant until now, and was I glad to see you're still the man that you once were. Shitty and useless. Once a drunkard, always a drunkard."

His face contoured pain. Was he feeling pain now? Guilt? Sadness? If he was, then my death was worth it after all.

"You know Harry, when I died that Friday night, all I could think was how you blamed me for all the shit you suffered from. From mom's death to how we slowly started to lose our business, and asked, how could it possibly be my fault?"

I was seething angry and was spitting out more than I intended. It didn't matter, consequences don't affect the dead.

"I am so sorry. I was just so saddened about your mom and I d-didn't know how to handle it. I didn't mean to put all my anger and problems on you. Trust me-"

"You what? You didn't mean to tell me how I should've died, how I should be the one six feet under? And how all my actions will not make up for the fact that mom is dead? How I'll never be like my mom and how no one would love me because I was no worth of such love?"

His eyes brimmed with tears while mine already showered.

"I said it before and I'll say it again. You are not my father. The man that Elise loved was a courageous and loving man. He loved making pancakes and making barbeque even though he sucked at cooking."

"This man right here is a drunkard. He drinks and does not know his limit, he lost himself and blamed it on everyone. You-" I stopped and pointed a shaking finger at him. "stopped being my father."

I was about to walk out when I heard him sob.

"Oh, and even if I got the bone cancer mom had, I'll never regret it. It only saves me from suffering from what you put me through."

With those words, I walked out the house and felt more light than ever.