nostalgia after death

12:01

I opened my eyes to find myself lying in bed, my head supported by a pillow. The window was open as sunlight streamed in.

What?

I adjusted to the light and looked around to see that I was in my bedroom, the same exact room that I slept on when I was still alive.

The photographs and movie posters that decorated the walls were still here. Long wooden windows on both opposite walls let some light in. It looked the same, but the scattered papers before were now gone.

"Hello?" I croaked out but no sound came out. My throat felt dry as I swallowed.

The room was awfully quiet. A machine could be heard beside me, beeping continuously. When I tried reaching the telephone on the bedside table, I saw a long, thin tube connected to my left hand, limiting my movements.

What is happening?

I could hear footsteps nearing the very room I was in. This alerted me as I hastily pulled the tube out with my right hand, hissing when pain shot up my veins.

Using both my elbows to help me sit up, I held the side wooden frame of my bed as I pushed myself off, dropping on the cold floor.

I tried standing but all strength left my lower body.

Why am I not dead?

The door slowly opened revealing my dad in his work clothes.

"Elle!" He said as his saddened face was replaced with shock. His feet instantly ran towards me as his hand helped me back up on the bed.

As soon as he let go of me, I embraced him and cried. I was here. I had another chance.

"I love you, Dad. So much."

I didn't turn around to face him. I just held him firmly, both of us in silence.

"Elle, I'm so sorry." He broke down, his voice raw.

"It's fine. Everything's fine now, Daddy." I said, calling him just like how I used to. I was free. I was okay in the arms of my father.

He was still my father. He changed but so did I. We were both in fault. There was no point in figuring out who sinned more than the other. We all sacrificed, it just happened my life was on the line. Used to be on the line.

"I'm so glad that you're awake now. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Okay? Daddy promises." His voice thick with emotion as he touched my face lovingly.

"Awake?"

Didn't I die?

"You were in a comatose state. After you overdosed, I thought you were gone but the doctors said that you were in a drug-induced encephalopathy. They didn't know when you'll wake up so I just moved you here."

I blinked, taking in the new information. I was in a coma. For the past two years I wondered why I hadn't moved on, only to know I wasn't dead.

After I died, I wondered why I didn't have a funeral. I wasn't put inside a casket, I wasn't buried nor cremated. I didn't mind though, funerals were useless, it wouldn't bring anyone back to life.

But why bring me back if I was just a wondering soul?

No wonder I felt more than Peter. I had a wider range of emotions compared to him. Emotions that he brought out of me. When we were at the bar, the carnival and when he tried to get run over.

"How do you even die again? You're already dead." Peter snorted, certainly amused.

Tears prickled my eyes and soon I found myself trying to break anything that was nearby, out of anger. Why am I not dead?

"I'll always be here, right next to you."

Dad quickly wrapped his arms around me, restraining me to do anymore damage and when my sight caught up with my senses, I saw what I've done.

The movie posters were ripped. Crumpled photographs on the floor, along with several pillows and broken glass from the little glass decorations I liked to collect years ago.

I looked at my hands to see blood coming out of the cuts the glass made.

I realized now, that I was never really dead, but Peter was. He was gone.

Is he?

I ripped myself out of dad's embrace and even though I was still weak, I ran outside the house and drove the car. Dad ran after me but he was too late.

I killed the engine and got out when I reached the place. I took in the familiar setting of the place. The sky, the atmosphere, and the memories. My feet took me on the cliff that Peter was last in. The spot where he crossed over, trees overlooking it and the chirp of the birds that once soared the high skies.

The statue of nature taking shape of Peter's features was nowhere to be found, instead daisies grew from the ground, surrounding an oak tree.

Sitting under the oak tree, I put a daisy behind my right ear. As I let the summer wind blow my hair, I take away my what if's and maybe's and finally settle for what's here. Me, my dad, and the life ahead of me.

Life is a loaded gun, you never know you need it once you run out of bullets. It was both high and low, an unbalanced mix of pain and bliss. Living was wonderful until you get to all the reasons it's not.

Death, on the other hand, can either be punishment, or a shot at redemption. It gives us a chance to start over or to end it all, a perfect escape.

But at midst of these two, is the existence of time. Time waits for no man. Waste it, value it, it would still run out. One says bad luck, no, it is bad choices.

Live like it's your last breath. Jump out of the skies, tell someone how much you love them, go somewhere no one's ever been. Don't hold yourself back, embrace the feeling.

All will matter, all will heal, in the hands of time.