Death is a strange thing. One moment your happily spending all your money on clothes and books and whatnot and the next you find yourself floating above your own body, surrounded by your parents. I really don't know what I'm most upset about. The fact that I died at sixteen, or that I died without getting even close to finishing my to-read list at Goodreads. Seriously?
Okay, obviously I'm more upset about the first. I'm sixteen, my entire life ahead of me and bam! I'm dead. I'm still not sure what happened. I had felt fine until I fell down. Maybe I'm not really dead? I'm not even sure where I am right now. It's not Hell I think, but I'm not sure if it's Heaven either. I can come and go as I please, so that's pretty cool I guess. I can haunt people, so that should keep me occupied. I don't even dare to see how my family and friends are dealing. Or maybe I should. See if they're holding a funeral. At least then I'm sure that I'm really dead. Not that that would make me feel better, but at least I'd know for sure. Well diary, wish me luck.
Ps. Why do I even have a diary with me? Death truly is a strange thing.