“I probably stood there for a good half minute with the wind on my back and the world beneath me. I’d done nothing. Not a single thing,” she told herself. She paced back in forth with her ghostly self listening to the sirens. The traffic lights beneath her stalled as her dead body lay unmoving on the freeway.
People killed themselves all the time. Just yesterday someone else on her block shot himself in the mouth with a Bible in his hands and his wife floating in the tub. Today, however, Helena walked out of the house at 8 PM on the dot ignoring her little brother dozed off on the couch still wearing his goody-two-shoes private school uniform. Helena hated the place, she remembered.
Just off the bridge was an old diner that all the teenagers in town apparently liked and that Helena liked too. She used to go in and grab a peanut butter milkshake just before the high school got out and she made her way to class in the piss-poor university across the city. Helena the ghost now remembered and cursed herself.
She hated that diner. Hated the customers too with their combed hair and pressed clothes from the office plazas down the street. She hated all those teenagers with their loud mouths and weirdly shaven heads, for fuck’s sake, did she ever do that? She wondered trying to remember and sift through what was left of her. Being a ghost and trying to remember doesn’t go so well. The memories all blur together and while you’re stuck wondering how the hell you died in the first place you’re trying to remember what it was like to be a teenager and live a teenager life.
“I didn’t even have a life!” Helena screamed into the night. She wore her hair tied to keep it from falling over her face when she did homework. She left at 7 in the mornings and walked just a few short minutes to the private school she’d attended since she could walk and after all that. After graduating at the top of her class and getting into Yale, Stanford, Harvard, she threw her hands up and fell straight into the university across town.
And tonight, poor sad Helena decided to walk just a few short minutes to the overpass and throw herself off that and fall straight into the pavement below her. Now ghost-Helena sighed watching as a drunk driver swerved past the barricade running over her body and racing off into the night.
There goes 19 years. Poor, sad Helena lived 19 years to become a ghost and watch her body get mangled by a drunk driver. Jesus Christ, she clenched her ghostly fist and frowned. She hated drunk drivers.
Photo Source: Fabian Merelle