|| 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬, 𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯 & 𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑭𝑭𝑰𝑻𝑰 ||

4. 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞

RILEY

I always wondered what it was like on the "other side".

What it felt like to die, if there was an afterlife or just a state of emptiness once your life was over. I used to go over it in my head, all the possible scenarios of what could happen after we died... we could be faced by judgement and sent to heaven or hell. We could just be floating in a forever state of nothingness, and lose complete awareness of who and what we are. We could even, maybe, be in some kind of system that organises which life we could reincarnate into based on previous life experiences. I thought so deeply into all these things that it would make my head hurt sometimes. I wish I could have escaped all the heavy thinking every now and again, and just enjoyed life while I lived it. I wasted so much time thinking about death when I was alive, and then ended up dying early.

Mum would say it's the OCD talking. That it wasn't my fault that I would end up in these endless loops of thought. But I feel like I still could've done more with myself while I had the chance.

Because now I know what death is really like. Or death for me at least. Maybe it depends on the person, and some people deserve a peaceful mind in death while others are punished. I know for a fact that I've probably been punished for attempting to murder my father.

Death for me is a place that's exactly like the one of the living, but at the same time so far away from it. Nobody can acknowledge me because I'm not there to them. Life unseen is probably the most painful kind of death someone can have.

No more "hey Riley"s or "what's up Riley"s as I walked down the street, or playful slaps on the back in greetings from school mates when I passed by. Or even hearing the disapproving mumbles of the elder people who saw me from their gardens. "That boy," they'd say, "never has anything useful to do".

I was known particularly on my street as the one always getting into some sort of trouble. Playing pranks and doing graffiti art was something that many of the older people didn't quite appreciate. But I'd like to think that most of the kids at school saw me as that friendly rebel.

It still hurts seeing everyone walk by without a second of acknowledgement for my existence now. They talk about me. But not in the way I'd like. It's always the voices of pity. That's not how I'm meant to be remembered. I worked so hard to keep a good face and show people... I was a free guy. A happy guy. A guy that just wanted to make people laugh. Why can't they remember me that way instead?

I just needed one person. At least one.

Mum would've been perfect for this. I wish I could've just gone to wherever she is. But we're too different... she's in a good place. We're both where we deserve to be. I keep trying to convince myself that maybe there's a way for me to make up for what I did. But would she forgive me? For not completing the painting. For almost trying to stab the love of her life to death.

You have a lot of time to think about everything to do with life after you die. That would've been way easier if I were still around... But now it's so difficult to think about the memories of being a person who had a lifetime of things ahead of him. That's why we get in a bit of a daze when we first become ghosts. First, you have to actually process the fact that you have died: Your life is no more. All your hopes and dreams are shattered, and you can never fulfil them. And all the people in your life will move on without you. That was the hardest part of the process. I won't go into details about how I had to go through it, but all I can say is I don't blame most of the ghosts back at the graveyard for being so emo all the time.

Some other ghosts go and try to take their mind off this pain, and mess about with some people when they can. Knocking things off of shelves, and whispering into people's ears. In the movies, they would always show the lights flickering on and off because of ghosts. And I always used to wonder, why would a ghost do that? What do they gain?

There could be different reasons depending on the person, but the most common one is that the afterlife is boring. And we just need to find something to do, because we have no idea why we're still here, when we don't have a purpose in life anymore.

Which brings me to the next stage after you process your death: You have to wonder what to do next. It's a fact that we ghosts exist because we have some unfinished business that is preventing us from moving on to whatever place you go to where your soul can rest. But I don't even know what my "unfinished business" is. I guessed a few times that it could be that painting I wasn't able to finish-but I need to physically touch the required tools to create it like a glass board and oil paints, and it's not like I can create the same thing with a couple of colours of cheap spray paint.

Luckily, I'd managed to find the box of spray cans in the old hideout I'd made with my best friends, Macey and Ash, back in primary school. It was a small fort we'd built in the woods from an old caravan. Pretty cliche, I know, but we were kids, so. Anyways that was the place we used to practise our graffiti and art skills. I went to visit there, one day, for the sake of nostalgia. None of them had taken the box with them when they left for university, which I was only partly grateful for.

I was surprised that my fingers grazed the surface of one of the cans, when I reached for it. I'd expected my fingers to go through it. But I was able to touch it, and honestly I have no idea why. But I didn't complain. However, I haven't been back to that place since.

And so, since then, I've entertained myself by reliving some of the old days with the gang, and decided to scribble on brief little messages in small parts of the walls. At least death didn't take away my creativity too. This town needs a little bit of colour anyway. I always made sure to do it when nobody was looking-people would freak out if they saw a spray can moving on its own. The old me would've done that for the sake of getting on someone's nerves. But all that will has been taken out of me now.

The park is where I am most of the time. When I'm not roaming the streets. I can't go back home-not to him. So I just sleep outside. I was always an outdoorsy kind of guy anyway. More inspiration to paint. And the extra advantage for me now is that I can't feel cold.

I'm walking there now. Towards the small area of grass that's been enclosed by short metal bars. Children swing on those a lot, and I like to watch that, because I used to do that too. Mum used to take me to this park all the time.

I jump over the bars, and find a nice spot on the grass to settle down, among some dried leaves. The sky is beginning to turn black, so I know it's going to rain. Not like it would affect me though. I look down at the leaves underneath me. I wish I could hear the sound of their crunch as I sat down. But even they don't acknowledge my presence. I'm not to be seen anymore, and the parts of me in this town will fade away gradually over time.

I suppose you could say there were some perks of being a ghost-like the fact that I don't have to associate with certain people anymore- but for the most part things are pretty lonely. And it only makes things worse that my friends are not in town anymore to give me some evidence that I'll be remembered for sure.