So I’m dead – a short story from beyond the grave

I have always loved writing fiction. First in French and more and more in English. I never have enough inspiration or persistence to write a book or even more than 5 pages but here is a first really short story I want to share with you.  Thanks in advance for your feedback!


So I’m dead.

It happened briefly, swiftly, almost painlessly. I was so surprised that I didn’t really enjoy that relieving moment when my soul and my body parted. I had always wondered how it would be, dying, and I wish I could have enjoyed it more. What I do remember is that it felt nothing like what people tell you, you know, that long white tunnel, blinding light and comforting warmth and about being sucked in something void and filling at the same time… It felt different to me; nothing transcendent or abnormal. I lived my death I think: It was like commuting, a smooth ride for what seemed like endless seconds… velvet seats and big tainted windows so you can look outside but no-one out-there can see you. And once I reached my destination, I was still here, with you. No clouds, no angels or heavenly choruses. Our street, your face and the shade of that tree we loved so much over my dead-body.

Of course I had feared death but I never thought it’d happened then.  I didn’t think I’d ever be ready to go anyway. Too many people to love, sights to see, things to do; like paint our porch, try that raspberry pie recipe, and my sister’s party on Saturday was going to be a blast… But then again, there’s nothing more certain than death. It’s like winter frost, yearly taxes and our neighbourg’s dog morning barking: you can’t avoid it.

So I’m dead.

At least it’s how it feels. Just like when you get all these needles under your skin and it’s tickling and numbing at the same time and when you want to get rid of them but you can’t. That’s how I feel right now. Not my body, I, my soul is it? It’s a very weird sensation to not be. I am light, am I floating? I guess I don’t weight anything anymore. Am I even matter still? Do I even matter still?

So I’m dead.

It’s been a week now, a year? I’m not sure… I’ve been roaming around, wandering aimlessly, adapting to my new self status. I have felt the cold of nights but it’s not biting my cheeks or cracking my lips, I have felt a reassuring warmth when I caught sight of my sister hurrying along the other day and I have heard our neighbourg’s dog barking every morning, over and over again. Oh and I have remembered these delicious mornings when the smell of the bread you toasted would wake me up, and that rash I had on my chin from all the kisses you gave me. And it made me kind of melancholic to think that it won’t happen again. Is that what death is? Feeling that you can’t feel? Still, I hear whispers in the wind and Sunday bells jingling but I forgot the sound of your voice.

So I’m dead.

And I like to remember, it makes time pass faster and I don’t know how long this will all last. I remember the first time I set my eyes on you.  You had them on me for the past two hours you said. I didn’t even notice you until you purposefully dropped your glass on the floor so I would see you and not through you. The sound of the glass shattering in thousands of crystal shards and the conversation stopping, the muffled sound of silence… what a wicked, triumphant smile you aimed at me! I don’t know why I didn’t see you first. You’re quite a looker my love. Not in an obvious handsome way but in your own intriguing presence. Strange how your face is blurrier by the day; I remember your mum saying you had chiseled cheek-bones and I laughed coz you had just stuffed your face with chocolate cake and looked everything but chiseled. Strange how the smallest memories can be all you’ve got left.

So I’m dead.

And I remember these first months of longing for you after that drunken-champagne first week of loving you. I literally ached for you my love; you had come and gone and I could feel your absence in every single minute of my present. It was in the pepper I forgot to sprinkle over the soup, in the grass that grew unsupervised in my front yard and in the pale almost yellowy complexion of my skin. I lived through the salt and sour memory of your skin, the urgency of your breath and touch, your delicate and arc-like smile’s persistence of vision. And I lived through you, growing inside me.

So I’m dead.

And I remember when you came back home after these eternal months of absence, when I thought I’d lost you and when I decided to kill you inside me. I remember when you were on my steps hidden behind that huge bunch of I’m sorry flowers, I remember when we got caught in the rain and stayed under that tree, when your socks and mine were tangled in the wash, when we both rode your bike and fell, it didn’t hurt to fall with you, my love, I remember your smile, my smile, our bubble of happiness. And I remember when it burst. I remember that horrible confession, I thought I could tell you everything, you said I could tell you everything. I remember when your smile disappeared, I remember your mood swings and inexplicable irrational fits of anger, I remember that I couldn’t remember who you were or who I was supposed to be, I remember we lay in our bed and you say you couldn’t forgive me, I remember when you killed me and I forgive you, my love.


Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s