I woke up dizzy. Like someone ran me over and reversed just for the fun of it. My body ached, or at least, I thought it did. It felt draining, heavy, suffocating, like I had been stuffed into something too small for too long.
Darkness. Thick, choking blackness. I couldn't see anything. I couldn't move much either. Panic kicked in fast. My breathing was shallow, at least, it felt like I was breathing.
Did I get kidnapped?
Is this one of those shady warehouse abduction things?
Did it have anything to do with my junkie ex?
A wave of dread rolled through me. No answers. Just claustrophobia and questions. I tried to scream, but the sound didn't even echo. Tried to punch upwards—maybe a trapdoor, a box, a ceiling.
And then…
My hand passed through something.
Just slipped right through.
I froze. My brain didn't compute it. I tried again, this time slower, and felt no resistance. Nothing at all. Like my hand wasn't even real.
Then I pushed harder, and my entire arm phased through the top. Confused and terrified, I shoved myself up, and my head followed.
That's when I saw it.
Grass. Cold night air. The tops of crooked tombstones catching the moonlight.
I rose through what I now knew was a coffin. Or casket. Whatever they call the thing you bury the dead in. Except… I wasn't in it anymore.
I was above it.
Floating.
I turned. My heart—or what was left of it—collapsed.
My body was still there.
I stared at myself. Pale. Still. Dressed in black lace like some twisted doll.
And in that moment, I remembered.
The accident. The sirens. The screaming. The silence that came after.
I was dead.
I was so, so dead.
I cried. Or at least, I thought I did.
But nothing came out.
No warmth on my cheeks. No wetness. No trembling lips.
Just emptiness—coaxed in darkness.
Why can't I feel anything?
How did this happen to me?
Am I not welcome in heaven? Not damned to hell either?
Or… do those places even exist?
But then—what about the others? Other souls?
I was in a graveyard, sure. But I didn't see anyone else.
Just me. Alone. Dead. Floating.
Curse the guy who ran me through.
Because of him I'm stuck here—neither here, nor there.
Well, whatever this is, I guess I don't have a choice anymore. If I'm dead, I might as well accept it and figure out what the hell is going on.
First step?
See how the people I left behind are doing.
I started walking. Or floating. Or gliding, whatever you call ghost-wandering. The streets looked familiar but… distant. Like watching a dream I forgot I had.
I headed straight to his place.
My boyfriend.
Devon.
God, he must be shattered. Probably sobbing into my hoodie or re-watching our old videos.
I smirked. Let's haunt him a little. Just for fun.
Poor soul must be lost without me.
…Wait. I'm the poor soul now. Scratch that.
My dear Devon, here I come.
I phased through the window like a breeze—no effort at all. His room was the same as I remembered. Neat, minimal, smelled like cologne and guilt.
But he wasn't there.
Then the front door creaked open. I instinctively hid behind the doorframe… before remembering I was dead.
Right.
I turned toward the hallway and froze.
He walked in with someone.
My heart stopped, again.
It was Emma.
My college roommate.
And then, before I could even process it, they kissed.
No.
No no no no no.
I felt something sharp inside me—a cut that went beyond bones or blood.
How long had I been gone?
I floated back, stunned, trying to count.
Three days.
Just three.
I thought dying was the worst part. I was wrong.
Devon—the same guy who chased me for months, who proposed under cherry blossoms, who made me believe that maybe love was real—and now he was playing house with my roommate.
My roommate.
Emma used to say she looked up to me. That I was the sister she never had.
And now here she was, tangled in my bedsheets with the guy who said he'd love me until the end of time.
Well, guess what, Devon?
I died.
And we technically never broke up.
So this? This is cheating.
Or betrayal.
Or something even lower.
They didn't even wait for my body to go cold.
I turned away. I couldn't bear it.
"You're in for a treat, Emma," I muttered, "because that asshole is going to chew through you and move on like you were a seasonal subscription."
I couldn't scream. I couldn't smash anything.
I felt everything. And could do nothing.
I floated out, burning in silence.
The heaviness in my chest didn't go away. It dug deeper.
Was this betrayal?
Or jealousy?
Or just the echo of rage with nowhere to go?
When I cried earlier, I felt empty. But this—this was worse.
This pain didn't fade like it did when I was alive.
It stayed.
Heavy. Solid.
And I couldn't let it out.
I wandered. No destination, just… away. Far from that house. Far from that lie.
I didn't even realize where I was going until I looked up.
My college.
Empty at night. Shadows clinging to the stairwells.
I slipped into the dressing room, the one with the cracked mirror where Emma used to retouch her eyeliner.
And I cried.
Harder than before.
"Why am I going through this?" I whispered to no one.
"What kind of cruel joke is this?"
There was no answer. Just silence.
For the first time since I died, I was afraid.
Afraid that I was stuck here. Afraid that I'd never move on. Afraid that my pain would be the only thing left of me.
I was glad I never fully gave my heart to Devon.
Because if I had…
This would've killed me.
Again.
I spent the night curled up in the college locker room.
Not that I needed sleep. Or comfort. But fear… fear doesn't care whether you're dead.
I just couldn't handle the silence anymore. Or the noise in my head.
When morning came, it wasn't like before. The sun didn't gently rise. It slammed into me.
The light felt heavy. Suffocating.
I heard voices. Students, coming in early for practice or whatever early-bird overachievers do. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to be seen.
I phased out through the wall, instinctively ready to lift off again.
But instead of floating—
I fell.
Straight down. Onto the pavement.
It didn't break my bones. I didn't bleed.
But I felt it.
Sharp, echoing pain, like it hit the idea of my body instead of the actual thing.
"Okay… what the hell," I muttered, pushing myself up. The sun bore down harder.
I tried to fly again. Tried jumping, hovering, anything.
Nothing.
Just a ghost girl in a black dress doing bunny hops in the campus parking lot.
"Yeah, now this is convenient," I snapped. "When I wanted to float out of my coffin? Sure. Now I'm stuck to the damn sidewalk like gum."
The heat didn't burn my skin. But it drained something deeper—my will, maybe. Like my soul was sweating.
I kept walking. One step, then another.
The city stretched ahead like a mirage. My house was miles away. But I had no other choice.
I passed a cab. Relief surged in me. Maybe I could hitch a ride?
I walked straight through it.
"Of course," I said, bitterly. "Of course I can walk on land but not sit inside a car. That makes so much sense."
I tried to go underground, just like I did in the coffin. I pressed my hand to the asphalt, trying to slip through.
Nothing.
My palm just stayed there. Still invisible to the world. Still untouchable.
I was stuck. Grounded.
Trapped between gravity and the grave.
"This is hell," I said, staring up at the sky. "This is literally hell."
Just like in the movies.
Not flames. Not demons. Just repetition.
Endless walking. Endless heat.
And worst of all, no one knows you're there.
"I'm suffering all over again," I whispered. "And I already died once."
I cursed the guy who hit me. Cursed Devon. Cursed Emma. Cursed whoever made the rules for the afterlife.
"Screw your karma, your cosmic justice, your divine plan."
And I kept walking.
Toward home.
Toward people who loved me.