Dead Boys Don't Love

I didn't lose my memories when I died. I knew who I was, I knew what I had done. And I knew that soon, someone would be turning up at my parent's house telling them I had kicked the bucket. And something told me my mom wouldn't want the ghost of her dipshit son haunting her.

So I wandered. My life wasn't about to become some episode of Ghost Whisperer, okay? I didn't see some purpose needing fulfilled to take me to the other side. Jennifer Love Hewitt wasn't about to show up with her boobs popping out to help me along, alright?

I didn't know where I was or was going. I walked along some highway in oncoming traffic just to see if getting hit could finish me off. But no, it couldn't, and eventually I ended up in some little town.

It was dark and quiet. I kept walking until I found a small two-story shit looking place I swear I thought was abandoned, and I went inside.

The front door led me into a small living room, and I sat on the couch and stared at the wall. My mind was completely blank. I felt and thought nothing.

Some time later a noise outside brought me back. And suddenly the front door was opening and the light was turning on. And someone was screaming.

I stood up quickly and watched the girl in the door drop her grocery bags, grabbing for her cellphone.

Someone came running downstairs screaming in Spanish, then yelling in English asking what was wrong, looking around wildly. The girl in the door stared wide-eyed at me.

I was her first supernatural experience.