Weird Stories From A Weird Person

Afterlife (Feel-Good)

Hello there, Sasha, It's time to go. I heard the voice before I saw the speaker. It sounded almost ethereal, like the voice was spoken from above. I felt light as a feather as my soul floated up from my body. I looked back at the blinding white hospital room, my eyes moving in and out of focus. I saw the yellow flowers left at my bedside table, and my parents rushing into the room, grief cutting through their faces. Tears sprung as I opened my mouth to call to them and realized no words were coming out. I looked down one last time before following the voice into the darkened tunnel. Tears blurred my eyes, and I could only see the blurred doorways to my left and right.

I stopped at the end of the tunnel. It felt like I had only walked a few steps, but when I looked back, I could see no light, nor the entrance I used to get inside. Facing me directly was a single door, bright pink and shrill. I willed my trembling hands to open the shiny brass doorknob, pushing open the door, still trembling in fear of what was behind the door.

I walked into the room hesitantly, my tired brain slowly processing the princess posters and silvery shelves bolted to the wall. I scanned my surroundings and categorized this room as the room of a little girl upon seeing the pink bed with lacy bedsheets hanging down the sides. Yay! You made it! I jolted, my thoughts interrupted by a voice higher and more happy than I had ever heard before. I swiveled around to see who had spoken, and my breath stopped.

In front of me was a 5-year-old girl with her curly black hair in pigtails holding up 2 teacups filled with water, looking at me expectantly. I took the teacup. In a horrible posh English accent, she clinked our teacups together and said: My dear, thank you for attending the tea party! Isn't that right, Ms. Cherry? She clinked her teacup to the teacup of a rag doll with ribbons and a poofy dress. Who was this girl? And what did I have to do with her?

Lina Arvydas! Are you talking to yourself again? A kind, motherly voice drifted to my ears. Lina, as the girl was called, looked truly offended. MOM! I'm not talking to myself! I'm talking to Sasha! She exclaimed, only to get an amused reply from what sounded like her mother. Right, right, your imaginary friend. She laughed. Well, tell 'Sasha' she can stay for dinner! At least I had an answer to my question. I had actually died, and now I was the imaginary friend of another girl. A sudden sense of protectiveness and sisterly love surged through me.

Lina was my person, and I was her imaginary friend. And I would not let anything bad happen to her.