I never actually intended to die.
I find it amazing how drastically things can change in such a short course of time. One minute I was walking along Elm Street, nearly home, and the next I was laying in a pool of my own blood with some sick bastard's bullet in my heart. It wasn't as painless as I thought it would be, death that is, but it was over quickly.
I was all over the news for months. Everywhere you'd turn there'd be my smiling face, an embarrassing photo from year 11. Wide brown eyes would be looking over you as you drove on by from giant billboards, or they'd stare at you from the side of passing buses, accusing you for carrying on with your life whilst I was stuck six feet under ground.
Nothing exciting ever happened in Haze Falls, it was just a quiet, nondescript town filled with people that minded their own businesses. So when my death hit the media, everything went crazy. People were gossiping about it in schools, the news reporter warned everyone to walk in groups of at least three or four until this 'culprit' was caught and there was a curfew for anyone under sixteen to be in before 9pm.
I was a hot topic, apparently.
The worst part of it though, is that I'm stuck here.
I wasn't strongly religious or anything, but I did believe in an afterlife. I thought I had led a decent enough life that maybe, just maybe, I would experience some kind of Heaven afterwards. Of course, being only sixteen and a half, I had never thought about death. I had remained blissfully ignorant of it, taking my life for granted. But teenagers aren't expected to dwell on death, are they? We're supposed to be young and carefree, rebellious and adventurous.
So could you imagine my surprise when I found out that I was still here?
It took about a day or so for my 'spirit' or whatever you wanted to call it, to detach from my body. I even got to see my own funeral. That was weird. And incredibly emotional. I discovered that even though I was dead, I could still experience emotions. Which was awful, of course, especially when I had to watch all of my family and friends grieve for me.
The most ironic thing though, the thing that I could only think about for weeks on end, was that I had died listening to Bulletproof Heart by My Chemical Romance.