Strings to Life

“I mean they can’t hear you.” The man in front of me replied. I frowned, taking in his appearance. He was dressed in clothes I’d only seen in history books. However, I recognized the clothing right away. They were Civil War era clothing. More specifically, I noted, a Confederate uniform. Or, what I believed to be one. The man cocked his head to the right, his frown mirroring my own.

“They can’t hear me.” I repeated, pulling myself first to my knees and then to my feet. “All right, but why can’t they hear me?” The man’s brown eyes flashed with some form of guilt. “And who are you anyways?”

“My name is Alfred Caldwell,” he stated. “And they can’t hear you because you aren’t technically in their plane of existence. That bullet went straight through your heart. I watched it all.”

“So…are you saying I’m dead?” While it would make a lot of things make sense, I just didn’t want to believe it. If I was dead, why was I still here? Why could I still bleed and feel pain? Why did I feel so drained of energy?

“Well not exactly,” Alfred replied with a shake of his head. “I’m in the same predicament you are in and have been for six hundred and forty two years.” Alfred’s expression was blank now, giving away no trace of emotion. “…You see, we are stuck here for some reason. ‘Here’ being the plane between life and death. We can still interact with everything around us…it just sometimes isn’t affected.”

“Like my allies.” I murmured. Alfred nodded his head, shifting his weight to his other foot. “So…I’m a ghost?” Well, that was the only explanation for it, wasn’t it? I waited for Alfred to nod again but he didn’t.

“No. Not really, anyways. We still can get hurt and tired. We just don’t need food or water to survive. Eating or drinking is pretty useless,” Alfred paused, looking at me to confirm I was at least somewhat grasping what he said. “When we get tired it just feels like dying all over again-but worse.”

I stayed silent, my gaze wandering past Alfred to a young man who stood behind him a few feet. His head was bowed and his shoulders hunched. From where I stood I could only see he wore an old aviator’s jacket and jeans.

As if reading my mind, Alfred cleared his throat. “That’s Ludovic...I would advise you not to stare at him too much.” By the way Alfred spoke, I seemed to pick up on the fact Ludovic was in the same boat we were. As if on cue the man picked his head up and looked in our direction.

He was glaring daggers at Alfred’s back, and Alfred seemed to know. He pulled something from his pocket and scribbled on it before gliding up beside Alfred and shoving it into the palm of his hand.

Alfred sighed, and unfolded what I now saw to be a piece of paper. He turned to face Ludovic, giving the taller man a stern look. “Because, Lud, he’s like us and I’m not going to leave him here on his own.”

Ludovic reached over and took the paper from Alfred, scribbling something else before shoving it into his hands. Alfred looked at the paper before shooting a glare that could make even a grown man cry towards the dark haired man. “Because I said so, that’s why. Now stop acting like a damn child. I didn’t leave you and I won’t leave him.”

Alfred turned back to me, signaling to the silent man behind him that their conversation was over. “Please forgive me for that, and forgive Ludovic too. He’s…not too keen on people.”

I nodded, though I was far from considering forgiving the dark haired man. “Why doesn’t he talk?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. Alfred scowled; looking over his shoulder to make sure Ludovic had occupied himself with something else.

Alfred ran a finger across his throat, simulating a knife slitting someone’s throat. “Ludovic wasn't exactly stable in life. He was…a murderer. I guess something else snapped in his head and he took his own life. He lost his voice that way.”

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but Alfred held up his hand to signal for my silence. “And I died from a stomach wound.” Alfred grimaced. “They gave me some water and left me to die. Although there wasn’t anything they could really do for me at the time.”

“So it took awhile to die, didn’t it?” I inquired; my voice suddenly hoarse. My death had been a quick one, but Alfred-by the way he talked-had suffered for awhile longer. Alfred nodded, and then turned sharply on his heels and motioned for me to follow. That signaled the end of the conversation.

I followed Alfred, letting the news sink in. I was dead…but I wasn’t dead. None of this made any sense. I pressed a hand to my head, as if that might steady my thoughts. The only thing I could rationalize myself as now was a ghost.