Reasons to Live
4
“You can see me?” is the first and totally obvious thing that came out of my mouth. This isn’t unnoticed by the druggie guy, which he lets me know by raising his eyebrows a couple millimeters. I roll off of my branch and float among the limbs, the feeling of leaves and other vegetation in my intangible body going unheeded as I stare at him. I feel an urge to hide, left over from my life prior to death, but I remind myself that I’m unafraid of this guy; I mean, even if he can see me, he can’t hurt me, right?
“I can,” he says, his tone bearing an odd combination of arrogance and weariness. “So why are you here? Are you here every night?”
Okay, so what answer can you really give to that? I mean, honestly? You can’t really say “Yes” because you sound like the creepy stalker, but if you go out and say “None of your business Dopey,” you just sound like a bitch. And guilty. And I really don’t like lying to people.
“It would be best if you could get over the pretty boy and move on, Chicky,” he drawls on, taking the silence for an answer. Is he smirking? And wait, Chicky? Really?
We regard each other, for as usual, despite my incorporeal form, I still prefer to avoid actual confrontation, though it seems to me that it’s putting its twisted nose in my face.
“So what?” he demanded, suddenly impatient. “Are you surprised at something, stunned into silence? I can see you, yeah, we covered that. Yes, you’re lingering over your unrequited love for the pretty boy, and no, there’s no way you can get a message to him, because you’re dead. And yes, you are dead, you are not in a coma somewhere ready to make some big choice whether to live or stay, you’re buried, and you can’t become a zombie or vampire or whatever. Make it easer; move on.”
Suddenly I feel tired, and I turn to my tree and curl up in the branches. I don’t want to move on, and I’m not here just to moon over Pine. I need him to break up with that cancer-tumor that he’s dating, before it kills him too.
But what if he does decide to break up with her? What if she then does kill him, or whichever girl he ends up dating next?
“Hey,” the guy snaps, striding up to my tree and glaring up at me. “I don’t exactly get off on you wasting my time.”
“Then go away,” I breathe, looking back up to the stars.
“I can’t until we discuss what your problem is and help you get over it,” he retorts, with the air of one snidely quoting somebody superior.
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I can’t go yet.”
“I can show you how,” he huffs.
I decide to stop answering him. Can you blame me? Even though “moving on” would probably be good for me, like I said, I can’t. Pine is still in danger from my killer, whether he knows it or not. And besides, this guy’s a dick.
As one of the invisible people, I’m used to this kind of thing; you’re either ignored, which is most common, but occasionally a teacher or some other figure of authority makes one of the big people get the invisible people involved in the project or the sport. What usually ends up happening is the big people go from ignoring us to kicking us in the ass, like we should be honored to be included on their cloud, while it’s actually just raining, and still over our heads.
So Dopey can thunder and boom all he wants. Like all intelligent human beings confronted by yucky weather, I’ve learned to wear my rain shell.
“I can,” he says, his tone bearing an odd combination of arrogance and weariness. “So why are you here? Are you here every night?”
Okay, so what answer can you really give to that? I mean, honestly? You can’t really say “Yes” because you sound like the creepy stalker, but if you go out and say “None of your business Dopey,” you just sound like a bitch. And guilty. And I really don’t like lying to people.
“It would be best if you could get over the pretty boy and move on, Chicky,” he drawls on, taking the silence for an answer. Is he smirking? And wait, Chicky? Really?
We regard each other, for as usual, despite my incorporeal form, I still prefer to avoid actual confrontation, though it seems to me that it’s putting its twisted nose in my face.
“So what?” he demanded, suddenly impatient. “Are you surprised at something, stunned into silence? I can see you, yeah, we covered that. Yes, you’re lingering over your unrequited love for the pretty boy, and no, there’s no way you can get a message to him, because you’re dead. And yes, you are dead, you are not in a coma somewhere ready to make some big choice whether to live or stay, you’re buried, and you can’t become a zombie or vampire or whatever. Make it easer; move on.”
Suddenly I feel tired, and I turn to my tree and curl up in the branches. I don’t want to move on, and I’m not here just to moon over Pine. I need him to break up with that cancer-tumor that he’s dating, before it kills him too.
But what if he does decide to break up with her? What if she then does kill him, or whichever girl he ends up dating next?
“Hey,” the guy snaps, striding up to my tree and glaring up at me. “I don’t exactly get off on you wasting my time.”
“Then go away,” I breathe, looking back up to the stars.
“I can’t until we discuss what your problem is and help you get over it,” he retorts, with the air of one snidely quoting somebody superior.
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I can’t go yet.”
“I can show you how,” he huffs.
I decide to stop answering him. Can you blame me? Even though “moving on” would probably be good for me, like I said, I can’t. Pine is still in danger from my killer, whether he knows it or not. And besides, this guy’s a dick.
As one of the invisible people, I’m used to this kind of thing; you’re either ignored, which is most common, but occasionally a teacher or some other figure of authority makes one of the big people get the invisible people involved in the project or the sport. What usually ends up happening is the big people go from ignoring us to kicking us in the ass, like we should be honored to be included on their cloud, while it’s actually just raining, and still over our heads.
So Dopey can thunder and boom all he wants. Like all intelligent human beings confronted by yucky weather, I’ve learned to wear my rain shell.