Ghost
"I have the money you need," I told my friend, as we sat in the somewhat seedy East Dallas bar. Looking around to make sure we weren't the subject of any undue attention, I opened my wallet and began discretely counting out the money.
"I haven't seen a $100 bill in ages," my friend exclaimed, suddenly self-conscious at how loud the remark had come out. Several of the patrons turned their heads.
"We'd better go," I said.
We quickly gathered up our things and headed for the door. As we walked through the door, I looked back to assure myself that no one was following us, just in time to see a man at the bar with a pistol pointed right at me.
As if in slow motion, the gun fired, I let go of the door, the bullet hit me, and I bowled backward onto the cold sidewalk. The whole world spun around for a minute or two. When I was finally able to sit up, I saw my friend running away, sobbing with her head in her hands.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Where are you going? You can't leave me here!"
Cautiously, I sat all the way up, and then stood up on my feet. Once I was sure things were okay, I began running after my friend, still shouting, but getting no response from her. I reached my hand out to put it on her shoulder, but it passed right through her back.
I stopped running.
Looking back toward the bar, I saw a crumpled figure on the sidewalk, already surrounded by a small crowd of bar patrons and a team of paramedics.
Spinning to the ground, I blacked out.
* * *
I began to reawaken, countless hours later, on the cold hard floor of my apartment. I blinked my eyes several times to readjust to the light. It had to at least be the next morning, if not the next afternoon.
Remembering the bar incident, I wondered if it had all been a dream. I stood up, but quickly realized that things were not as they should be.
Most of my belongings had been packed into boxes. Several empty boxes lay collapsed in the middle of the floor. Most of the furniture was all piled into a bunch in the corner.
Oddly, my computer desk was still right where I'd left it, with my computer turned on, online, and with my email program on the screen.
I wandered around the room for a bit, trying to make sense of it all. As difficult as this is to believe, I'm obviously dead, I thought to myself. Why am I still here though? Shouldn't I be — you know — in heaven or something? Or at worst just gone — no longer conscious. This isn't right.
I pondered things a bit longer.
Thinking that maybe I'd been far too active for death to completely take effect, I lay back on the ground where I'd originally woken up. Getting as comfortable as I could on the hard floor, I crossed by hands, closed my eyes, and relaxed, waiting for something. Anything.
Still there was no sign of a change.
Starting to really worry by this point, I began to pray. "Hello God? Um, hello? This is Matt. I don't know how all of this is supposed to work, but I'm sort of, well, passed on down here, or whatever. Dead, right? And, um, honestly, I'm feeling kind of lonely."
"I don't know how this heaven thing works — not saying I assume I qualify — but if I do, aren't I supposed to be talking to you by now? Otherwise I would have thought I'd just disappear or something, but. . . ."
Ugh, I'm losing focus, I think.
"Anyway, God if you're there, please hear me. Am I the only one here? Hello?"
I started to cry a little in spite of myself.
Trying to comfort myself, I began thinking, Maybe there's some kind of a delay — like it takes a while between when you die, and when anything happens — a processing period or something. No need to get all panicky quite yet. Speaking of, how long's it been, anyway?
Sitting up, I look at the computer screen to learn that it's been several days already.
Hey, maybe that's it! Maybe this is my chance to say goodbye, or to finish up some business.
Smiling slightly, I reached out for the computer keyboard, but my hands went right through it. I sighed audibly, but decided to try again. This time, a horrific garble of letters appeared on the screen, though I still felt no resistance in my hands.
Ah, I see, even though I can't touch the keys, apparently I can still trigger the electronic switches under them.
Redoubling my efforts, I begin a new email message. Very deliberately, I start putting together the recipient list: family, friends, close coworkers, ex-girlfriends whom I still felt close enough to to include. . . .
The cursor sat blinking on the subject line. "Goodbye," I typed.
Typing the letter, hitting all the right keys, took all my concentration, but I continued, telling everyone how, though I was sure they'd heard of my demise by then, I wanted them to know that I was okay, and somehow, by some strange turn of events, I'd been granted this chance to tie up loose ends. "Assuring you, death is not the end. . . ." I wrote, and then, as I signed my name, I was startled to hear a noise behind me.
"Oh my God! Look at the screen!" The landlady's face contained a look of sheer fright. I hadn't heard her or the other woman come in. "Could it be? I swear, I saw the letters appearing on the screen. . . ."
I suddenly became very self conscious. Not wanting to further frighten anyone, I decided to cease typing until I was on my own again.
The two women soon left, in quite a rush, and with the last echoes of the door slam, the room suddenly became very quiet again.
What is this? I thought. Why?
I blacked out again.
"I haven't seen a $100 bill in ages," my friend exclaimed, suddenly self-conscious at how loud the remark had come out. Several of the patrons turned their heads.
"We'd better go," I said.
We quickly gathered up our things and headed for the door. As we walked through the door, I looked back to assure myself that no one was following us, just in time to see a man at the bar with a pistol pointed right at me.
As if in slow motion, the gun fired, I let go of the door, the bullet hit me, and I bowled backward onto the cold sidewalk. The whole world spun around for a minute or two. When I was finally able to sit up, I saw my friend running away, sobbing with her head in her hands.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Where are you going? You can't leave me here!"
Cautiously, I sat all the way up, and then stood up on my feet. Once I was sure things were okay, I began running after my friend, still shouting, but getting no response from her. I reached my hand out to put it on her shoulder, but it passed right through her back.
I stopped running.
Looking back toward the bar, I saw a crumpled figure on the sidewalk, already surrounded by a small crowd of bar patrons and a team of paramedics.
Spinning to the ground, I blacked out.
* * *
I began to reawaken, countless hours later, on the cold hard floor of my apartment. I blinked my eyes several times to readjust to the light. It had to at least be the next morning, if not the next afternoon.
Remembering the bar incident, I wondered if it had all been a dream. I stood up, but quickly realized that things were not as they should be.
Most of my belongings had been packed into boxes. Several empty boxes lay collapsed in the middle of the floor. Most of the furniture was all piled into a bunch in the corner.
Oddly, my computer desk was still right where I'd left it, with my computer turned on, online, and with my email program on the screen.
I wandered around the room for a bit, trying to make sense of it all. As difficult as this is to believe, I'm obviously dead, I thought to myself. Why am I still here though? Shouldn't I be — you know — in heaven or something? Or at worst just gone — no longer conscious. This isn't right.
I pondered things a bit longer.
Thinking that maybe I'd been far too active for death to completely take effect, I lay back on the ground where I'd originally woken up. Getting as comfortable as I could on the hard floor, I crossed by hands, closed my eyes, and relaxed, waiting for something. Anything.
Still there was no sign of a change.
Starting to really worry by this point, I began to pray. "Hello God? Um, hello? This is Matt. I don't know how all of this is supposed to work, but I'm sort of, well, passed on down here, or whatever. Dead, right? And, um, honestly, I'm feeling kind of lonely."
"I don't know how this heaven thing works — not saying I assume I qualify — but if I do, aren't I supposed to be talking to you by now? Otherwise I would have thought I'd just disappear or something, but. . . ."
Ugh, I'm losing focus, I think.
"Anyway, God if you're there, please hear me. Am I the only one here? Hello?"
I started to cry a little in spite of myself.
Trying to comfort myself, I began thinking, Maybe there's some kind of a delay — like it takes a while between when you die, and when anything happens — a processing period or something. No need to get all panicky quite yet. Speaking of, how long's it been, anyway?
Sitting up, I look at the computer screen to learn that it's been several days already.
Hey, maybe that's it! Maybe this is my chance to say goodbye, or to finish up some business.
Smiling slightly, I reached out for the computer keyboard, but my hands went right through it. I sighed audibly, but decided to try again. This time, a horrific garble of letters appeared on the screen, though I still felt no resistance in my hands.
Ah, I see, even though I can't touch the keys, apparently I can still trigger the electronic switches under them.
Redoubling my efforts, I begin a new email message. Very deliberately, I start putting together the recipient list: family, friends, close coworkers, ex-girlfriends whom I still felt close enough to to include. . . .
The cursor sat blinking on the subject line. "Goodbye," I typed.
Typing the letter, hitting all the right keys, took all my concentration, but I continued, telling everyone how, though I was sure they'd heard of my demise by then, I wanted them to know that I was okay, and somehow, by some strange turn of events, I'd been granted this chance to tie up loose ends. "Assuring you, death is not the end. . . ." I wrote, and then, as I signed my name, I was startled to hear a noise behind me.
"Oh my God! Look at the screen!" The landlady's face contained a look of sheer fright. I hadn't heard her or the other woman come in. "Could it be? I swear, I saw the letters appearing on the screen. . . ."
I suddenly became very self conscious. Not wanting to further frighten anyone, I decided to cease typing until I was on my own again.
The two women soon left, in quite a rush, and with the last echoes of the door slam, the room suddenly became very quiet again.
What is this? I thought. Why?
I blacked out again.