I died. It was disconcerting at first, as you would imagine. I felt confused and lost. The time it took to find my bearings was incalculable. It was also irrelevant.
When I found myself I was beyond excited. No, it was more like ecstasy. The first thing I did was inhabit the body of a well-known ghost hunter. With their knowledge I set out to prove my existence.
Things didn’t play out the way I had expected them to; in my mind the joint efforts of a ghost and a ghost hunter would prove something, anything, beyond the natural realm. It turned out that what we thought we knew was wrong.
All of it was wrong.
There was nothing to prove.
I was not real.
Afterwards I left the man to drift aimlessly across the universe. Whatever happened to him? I suppose he went insane; my own antics were the culprit. I had been such a selfish prick.
While wandering through the realm of space I saw primordial beings of light and antimatter . . . Gods perhaps? Perhaps real aliens. Maybe. They had no answers for me; I never approached them to ask. A small part of me still fears death. Death beyond death?
What did it matter? I was not real.
There was something, but it was not the me I had been. The me I had clung to in life had been a lie.
I am a lie.
People always asked why their loved ones were not sending them messages from beyond, clear messages. Something, anything. I knew their pain; everything that lives and breathes feels the same pain to a degree. I used to wonder about that same silence during my time.
Now that I am nothing, I know that there is nothing to be said. It’s meaningless to the dead, the disembodied. I can’t say that no one cares. It’s just that we have moved on.
I wish you knew that. One day you will be like me.