And then I told him, I said "this is my frying pan, these are my pancakes, get the hell out of my kitchen", but he wouldn't go. And then he started kissing my wife and he ruffled my kid's hair and I thought hells no, this is not right. But then...
but then....
but then... I noticed that my kid was much older than I remembered. He looked about 16, and last I saw him he was 12. That was only yesterday though so what the hell is going on, I have no idea. 4 Years gone. Where? Where did they go? Where did I go?
And why the fuck was this jackass making out with my wife in front of me? Had he no respect? Did Pamela not recognise me? I had had more than enough when I took an ill-judged swing at him, and passed right through him then fell on the floor.
So I'm a ghost I guess. No-one can hear me, no-one can see me and I can go through walls and shit. It's pretty depressing when you think about it. It's very depressing when you think about that Patrick Swayzee movie, as being a ghost isn't like that. I don't get to have weird pottery sexy time with my wife. I don't get to meet Whoopi Goldberg. I can't move things, no matter how hard I try. And worst....there is no fucking light at the end of the tunnel waiting to take me away. I'm just here, alone, all the fucking time.
After haunting my kids for a few months, getting to know the little rascals better than I ever had when I was alive, I finally got bored and went for a looksy-loo around the city. I thought peeking in women's showers would be hot, but it really wasn't. Not even famous women's showers. I don't think I get sexual urges anymore, but if I do, people cleaning themselves definitely does not do it for me.
So I watched everything that came out in the cinema, I hung out at DVD stores and caught people when they were just starting new boxsets and joined in. I tried reading, but trying to get through a book by moving your head through it one page at a time is just not fun, nor is reading over someone else's shoulder at their pace. I went to dozens of circus's and weddings, parties, clubs, and even a few funerals. I became a big sports fan. I tried to see what was at the bottom of the ocean , but it was just too dark down there for it to be a good time. I went to war zones to see the excitement, but it's actually pretty surreally boring if there's no danger to you - just a lot of noise and some random screaming, and seemingly for no reason at all.
I ran out of stuff to do. I was bored. I was lonely, and there was nothing to do about it. I went to the hospital to watch people die and see if another ghost was spat out, but no. It was a pretty messed up experience seeing those people die, so I gave up quickly. I already knew funerals were no better, so I tried cremations and every other death rite I could find but to no avail. The first ghosty thing I can remember is being in the kitchen screaming at my wife's new man, so it's not like I sprung into existence at my death, or at least I don't think I did.
I never found out how I died either. When I was alive I wouldn't know how to find that out, let alone with the zero resources that come with being dead. I went back to find my family and they had moved. I had nothing better going on in my life (death?) so I started living (dying?) with the new family that moved in there and watched the mail. When a letter finally came for my son, I watched it like a hawk to see what they would do with it, and after a week they finally got around to forwarding it. I could have just read the address and found the place, but I was really bored by this time, so I just followed the letter. I spent a night in the postal system, perhaps having the most fun I've had in a while. Sliding down the shoot with all the letters was a hoot anyway.
So I find my son, and he's married now, and I watch him live. It's kinda nice seeing him react to things like I would have, or overhearing him say a few loving things about me every now and then. On my birthday one year, he goes to my grave for the first time (that I've seen anyway) and the whole experience is a bit overwhelming for me. I knew I was dead this whole time, but actually seeing my headstone is a bit much. Seeing my wife weep quietly, and my son gently console her makes me feel less forgotten. It brings back the reality of what I lost, of who I was and why I miss being alive so goddamn much.
I weep. I mean I really sob and wail at my grave. I scream and curse and beg for the life I had. I question and cry and break down like a little baby, unable to control the terrible sad rage coursing through me. I notice my family are gone, and I don't try to find them. I sleep, on my own grave, mournfully, brokenly.
When I awake it's night time. I don't know if it's the same night I went to sleep in or a new one, but then time keeping is always a bitch for a ghost. I start walking towards the gate, but then stop and reconsider.
There is nothing on the other side of those gates for me. I could watch my kids grow up, watch the world grow old even maybe, but why? I can't affect it, and I'm feeling less and less bothered about it all every day. I don't think I even cared that much when I was alive, but I don't remember that so well anymore anyway.
I lie down on my grave, and start sinking. I've gotten good at moving through things, so I guess about 6 feet and stop. I could be in the mud right now, but I think I'm in myself. In my coffin, where I'm supposed to be. I close my eyes and relax. Nothing. No sounds, no sights, no people, no buildings, no living, no dying, nothing. It's actually kinda nice and peaceful. I think I'll try it out for a while.
When the world ends I suppose I'll see it. Or when this graveyard gets dug up. But until then I'm going to sleep in like an unemployed teenager. It's going to be pretty sweet I think.
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