She tells me that being an angel is the best kind of undead. I'm fairly sure the vampire took offence, but maybe decided she was not someone to get into a fight with. It wasn’t really the most reassuring thing in the world, but she was right, it was much better than being any other kind of undead. Though I do kind of wish I hadn’t died at all. He stared at the back of the seat in front of him, remembering watching his own funeral. He had been invisible to his family, dead to them completely. He guessed it was something to do with not screwing up their minds that he was there. Or maybe his transition from death to life after Death wasn’t complete at that point.
In my mind I can see the shiny black stone, my name embossed on the surface. I can see the faces of my family as my wrecked body is lowered into the ground, hidden by a wooden box. I remember their relief as the lid of the coffin was closed after they had all filed past my body, which all dressed up and cleaned as best as they could get it, their sobbing goodbyes. My brother had slipped something into my coffin as he walked past. It was a present he had never got the chance to give me. I died about two weeks before my twentieth birthday, you see. The present was a plane ticket. A round the world trip. It was inside a brochure, describing the places I would have gone, the places he knew I would have killed to see. I cried. He cried. Both our hearts were broken.
I feel a tear drip into my lap, followed by another. I'm crying. In front of Phoebe. How pathetic am I? I push the memory of my funeral from my mind and focus on trying to make conversation again, but I can’t think of anything other than my bloody funeral. I lean forward, resting my head on the back of the chair behind me, and begin to thump my forehead on the hard plastic. Stupid Delano. Stupid. Stop thinking.