Blindsided

You would always want to attend your own funeral.

I don't know you, but I know that deep inside, you would want to see your own funeral.

Everyone does.

Now, you might deny it because you might think that when you die, you would want to go straight to wherever you're supposed to go. But trust me when I say this: when you die, you would want nothing more than to just witness your own funeral.

You would want to see how people would react to your passing. You would want to see how you look in your casket because you know that it's the last image people will see before you go six feet under. You would want to try and say goodbye for the last time. You would want to do anything and everything before they decide to forget about you.

That's what death does to people. They will mourn, they will grieve, but eventually, they will forget. And it will hurt, and it will feel like you're dying when you realize that they have moved on and you haven't, just because you literally can't.

You might be thinking: Who does she think she is and why does she know all of these things?

Simple. Because I'm currently standing in front of my cold, lifeless body.

Yes, I'm dead. I died three days ago, and today will be the day of my burial rights. I came to watch myself be buried six feet under, or probably a bit deeper than that.

You might be wondering why I had died, but we'll have plenty of time for that.

Let's just begin with what new friends do. Introductions.

I am Winter Lucille Adams. Eighteen. I like pizza and bacon and long hugs. I also like making playlists and reading books. I was a normal teenager with high hopes and dreams. I don't like school because I believe that it's a place that prevents a person from having a real learning experience.

Am I sad because I died? Not really.

Am I suicidal? I used to be.

Was I unjustly killed? Yes, and no. There was an injustice, but I wouldn't call it "killing".

What do I hate most about being dead? Well, aside from not being able to eat, I hate the fact that I'm still on earth even after I have died. I'm invisible and intangible. I can't really do anything besides watching people. Also, I can't see other souls. It's very frustrating because you really can't do anything.

When I was still alive, I've always wanted to know what happens after you die.

When I died, I looked for a white light, and a tunnel, and clouds and angels. I looked for heaven, or hell, or purgatory, but instead I found myself in a hospital, in front of my body, as I hear the death beep. You know, that sound the hospital machine makes when the patient dies? That beep.

I was so disappointed.

It doesn't even feel like I'm dead. I can still touch my own soul even though I know that I'm not in my body anymore. I can still talk, but I know people couldn't hear me. I've tried countless times and no one ever dared look in my direction after I have shouted.

Somehow when you're dead, everything's clearer. You don't ask questions about death because it feels like you already know everything.

But being dead's both very entertaining and very depressing, depending on how you look at things.

In my case, I couldn't care less about being dead. I know I'm supposed to feel sad, but for no apparent reason, I am not. I mean, I don't LIKE being dead, but now that I know how it is, I realized that it's no different from being alive.

The change only happens to people who are left to experience the loss of a "loved one", which is why I'm here today. The world cup finals game is happening right now and I could just rush to the nearest sports bar and watch it there, but I chose to stay here and hear what people have to say about me.

You gotta love eulogies.

I can now hear people's thoughts, but only if I try hard enough. It's easier if you've been close to the person when you were still alive, though. I still don't know how the whole process works, just an observation. It takes a lot of getting used to.

I'd be honest with you, I have tried flying, and I have failed. For the past three days I've been trying out all the "superpowers" I could possibly possess, but I only got invisibility and the ability to read minds. I could ask other "ghosts", but as I have mentioned earlier, I couldn't see them, and they couldn't see me, either.

Being dead doesn't stop me from thinking about heaven and hell. Somehow I can't help but wonder if they really exist. Maybe I'm just in a state of limbo or I'm stuck somewhere in between. In books, the dead usually have someone who guides them as they go on a journey to somewhere. Deep in my soul's heart, I'm still hoping someone would come and get me, but somehow I know I'll be alone for the rest of my life, or lack thereof.

I'm currently sitting beside my sister, because this is where I know I'd be sitting if I was still alive and attending another person's funeral. Being beside my sister always gives me comfort. I grew up with workaholic parents so I had to get used to having my two sisters and my brother as my parents. They're all currently above 25, so that means I grew up with much older siblings.

But that doesn't mean I'm mature for my age. In fact, not having to grow up with siblings my age meant I had to be surrounded by toys. Lots and lots of toys. I felt grateful, really. But I still needed something more... educational.

So I settled with reading books. When I was seven years old, I used to read my siblings' books. That is, when I'm not playing with my gigantic doll house. I read The Little Prince when I was eight. I didn't own the book, though. My eldest sister did. When I gave it back to her, it was filled with my own pen and marker drawings. Even as a child, I didn't like using pencils.

I don't know why I'm telling you so much about myself. But this is how I am most of the time. I like telling stories. I was the talkative one, but I guess I still am.

Now I'd have to be the listener. I'd have to be quiet although people can't really hear me.

One of my closest friends, Autumn, is standing on the podium.

Yes, I know it's a bit cliché, her name's Autumn and I'm Winter, and we have another friend whose name's Summer. I hate it.

No, our parents weren't high school bestfriends who planned on naming their children after seasons, but our names basically started our friendship. We'll get to that later if we have enough time.

Anyway, she's standing on the podium and I can feel that she's shaking even from afar. She doesn't like speaking in front of a lot of people, but I know that she felt that she has to. But I know that she can do it, she always does.

I sat still as we were enveloped with silence.