Bound In Spirit

I am dead. I flinched from the simple truth of my thoughts; it was like they were physical bullets, not mental ones. Those simple would be words ricocheted on and threw my brain; finding crevices in which to mold, and taking root in the weakest part of my psyche. Those simple words strung together to form a sentence that could possibly destroy my soul; I am dead. I heard them again and again as they repeated themselves like a mantra. They seemed to fill my thoughts until at one point, I actually thought the truth would make me crazy, but with one final tug of will, I forced myself to calm down.

I stared down from where I hovered, at the scene that was unfolding in front of my very eyes. A car lay – almost submerged – in a ditch. Smoke rose from the belly of the Tahoe from its recent use, and its tires still spun slowly. Through one of the broken windows, I could see a teenager dangling upside-down, only suspended by her seatbelt.

Her once lustrous blonde hair, now matted with blood, hung in a part curtain in front of her face. Through the tangled mass that had once been the teens pride and joy, slivers of skin could be seen. What had once been a blemish-free face now held multiple cuts and gashes; some skin even peeling off at parts.

All of a sudden, a siren – a noise I hoped I’d never have to hear up close and personal – came blaring from around a corner. I glanced over just in time to see a wave of paramedics rush out of the ambulance and head in the wrecked vehicles direction. From my perch up high, I could catch bits and snippets of the conversations going on down below.

“Her heart isn’t even beating…”

“CPR most likely won’t work…”

“She looks barely sixteen. How could barely a kid die like this? What will her parents think?”

I snapped out of my trance with a jolt. To think, I’d been sitting there for countless minutes, observing my death scene, while my parents most likely didn’t know a thing? It hadn’t been the prospect of this idea that had finally made me snap out of it, though.

I couldn’t help ask myself why I had had to die. I was only sixteen; I hadn’t even gotten out of high school. I don’t remember doing anything majorly stupid as to piss off god, so why had he favored me out of all his children to die? Not just that, but why wasn’t I in heaven? Was I doomed to walk this earth forever as a punishment for a crime I didn’t remember committing? These thoughts and more passed through my brain as I made my way over to the hospital.

I discovered on my way there that as expected, no one could see me; not even if I willed differently with every fiber of my being. I could also walk threw walls or other objects, but apparently lift them if I so chose. ‘Just like a ghost’ I thought to myself, but no, I couldn’t think that. It would remind me of the dead factor.

I got to the hospital just in time to see the same ambulance I had seen earlier pull up, and my body being rolled out of its doors. I glanced away as not to see what I looked like; I feared that would be the thing that would push me over the cliff of insanity. When I finally bothered to look back at the hospital doors, it was to see my mother and father rushing threw; heart-broken expressions in tow. I sighed sadly to myself; it was like I could feel Mama’s pain; it was like I could taste Papa’s distress. I followed them through nonetheless.

They had barely sat down to wait when a doctor entered the room, calling our last name. Her face wore an expression of sympathy yet looked somber, and I nodded to myself, just a little grateful that it would be a capable doctor that would break the news to my parents.

“Mr. Night?” my father looked up bleakly; all emotions were washed away from his face, while in their place a look of utter blankness sat. God, I felt like I would cry when I saw that look of hopelessness on my Papa.

“I’m so sorry.” The doctor gave no pretenses as to me being alive, so I had to thank her for that….I guess. I’m not sure my parents could do the same though.

“Is there no hope?” I glanced sideways to see Mama staring at the doctor; a pleading look in her eyes. A shaking hand was tightly clasped to Papa’s, while another tried to wipe the escaping tears away from her face.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Night, but no, she’s… it’s not possible to bring her back.” At these words, both my parents sank back into the couch behind them. My mother started sobbing violently, and my father did try and comfort her, but he was crying too.

“Look at me!” I wanted to yell at them, but all that came out was a whistle of wind. “Look at me, damn it!” I tried and tried, even though I knew it was to no avail. They couldn’t see me.