The Body Will Not Be Dimensional

Chuck gave us a list of 20 titles from a Random Titles site this time around. I chose this title and didn't finish until around 1am... *phew* what a time to finish; but it's well worth what's here.

enjoy!


I feel as though I’m having a recurring dream – a bad one – about my life. But I’m the spectator and I’m watching it all unravel. I’m not sure how this happened… but…

“I’m here, Mum, it’s all going to be okay.” I sit by her on my bed as she lays there crying.

“Oh! It’s just not fair!”

“I know.” I reach out to touch her, but think better of it, as she might push me away – or grab me so close it’ll hurt – either way, I’ll feel pain so bad I’ll feel crushed, “It’ll get better.” But what will get better?

“Stephanie.” A voice says behind me. I turn and see a man in a suit, “It’s time we left your Mother. She’s in pain because you won’t leave her alone.”

I stand, frowning, “But I love her. She needs me.”

“No she doesn’t.” he says, “She needs her family, and right now you’re not it.”

“Why aren’t I it? I’m her daughter.” I grab the necklace around my neck which has half a heart and ‘Mum’ on it, “You see, I’m hers to the end… we are best of friends.”

“And staying here is killing her – hurting her – beyond anything you’d want to in life.” He says, “You don’t seem to understand what’s happened to you.” He motions me towards him, “Come downstairs.” Within a blink of an eye, we were both downstairs in my living room to find my Dad and my brother going over my paperwork, bills and looking at my Will with a lawyer, “Stephanie, you’re dead.”

“When in the hell did this happen?”

His expression says it all to me: I have to understand how I died and why before he could take me. Shaking his head, he looks to his hands, which rest on a white crystal-headed cane, “Your body will not be dimensional until you’re in the know. And no, I can’t show you. I’m the Reaper, not the ‘This is Your Life’ dude.”

He leaves me alone and I find myself on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Why I’m here I don’t know, but I do know it’s to do with my death; and I have figure out for myself where I am.

There’s little to no traffic and I wait until daybreak to find that I’m not that far from where I live – I’m actually on a road not far from my house; only about three kilometers from it, as I can… see the roof of my house just over the dam…

“Oh crap…” I quickly look to my left and to find some disturbed dirt and a set of tyre tracks leading away (or to) this place. I’m in the neighbouring field to this new place we have only just bought a year ago. And here’s an irony for ya: I survived over a decade in what was known as a dangerous area; and I move to the country and barely survived a year… how weird is that? I think of my house and find myself in the craft room, where my niece is sitting at my work bench, staring at a blank page of a sketch book. Walking up behind her, I notice she’s trying to draw something, and crying at the same time – this poor kid has known me all her life and I’m suddenly gone; and she’s my closest communication with everyone.

Slowly covering her hand with mine, I start whispering in her ear where I am. At first, she cries harder, “Veronica, trust me, I’m not leaving this dimension until they find me. Please tell them. I love you and trust you to pass this on.” The writing comes out all scrawling and long-looking –tearing the page a little – as she writes down everything I asked her to, “Thank you, my sweet Ronica, my little artistic gem.” My nickname for her – so she’d know it was me.

As I step away, I feel exhausted and she stands up quickly, knocking over the bar stool she’d been sitting on. My brother rushes in seeing what she had written. He asks her why she wrote all this and she claims something whispered in her ear – that I had told her – and she cries hard, “Dad, please, get the police to search the next field… she tells me she can’t move on until she is found.”

My brother looks around at a mirror and his gaze stops there for a moment – stares at it – and I turn to see a slight reflection of myself in it looking back at me, then him. Smiling I wave. This is when he pulls out the phone and dials for the local police to come in.

The grave is shallow.

It is mine… but…

… as my poor body is exhumed, I look around and find others walk out of the brush – others the police walk through – other ghosts like me.

There are more…

… then a shout calls from about ten metres away.

Another has been found.

“Stephanie.” He stands by me, “It seems you not only found yourself, but you found others who were just like you.”

“Will they find the scum who did this?”

“Yes.” He says, “Do you remember?”

“My car…” I says, “I didn’t see it at my house.”

“You were car-jacked three weeks ago. When you started going through withdrawal from you medication, they killed you.”

More shouting starts up, this time at a house near the main road, “Are they the people who…” I couldn’t finish, “…the scum…”

“Yes.”

“What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“Live. And you were supposed to live a full and long life – you were supposed to live into your nineties.” Gunshots pop from the direction of that house near the road, “I’ll be right back.”

I watch as the coroner carefully has my body placed into a body bag and zips it up. I hear a lot of ‘poor woman’ and ‘so young’ before the Reaper comes back, smiling, “Okay, your turn.”

“Where did you send them?”

“Nowhere near where you’re going.” He smiles.