It’s a chilly winter morning. I can’t feel anything, but that must be because I’m dead. I know this because I see the people wearing black cardigans and sweaters. Some are even wearing black long coats. It’s all black. I told them not to make it all black, but who ever listened to me? Oh well, can’t help it now.
I had a list of how I wanted my funeral to be. I specifically mentioned NO black and NO tears. I also said they should play good music, my music. Instead all I can see is black and tears and all I can hear is the sad melancholy tune of the church choir. Its a sad sight, but I guess that’s how funerals are supposed to be. If I were there I would want someone to kill me, but no one would have. Guess it’s best I did it myself.
I’m floating near a tree, quite far away from the actual ceremony. I wonder if people can see me, but I doubt they can. All people are doing is going to my casket and whispering. I’m curious to know what they might be saying, so I float over there and listen to people speak to my dead body. It’s not eavesdropping, they are talking to me after all.
First one there is my mother. She isn’t crying. Her face is red with anger I guess. My mum’s the only kind of person who’d be scolding her daughter even after she’s dead.
“You just had to go and kill yourself right? Always wanting to be a rebel. I say, ‘Go live your life to the fullest’ and you kill yourself. Is it worth it? I hope it is. Be happy where you are because there’s no way you’re coming back this time!” She whisper-shouts. I roll my eyes. Typical mom. But mum, I am happy. At least happier than I was living. I’m dead and I feel more alive than ever.
My dad’s not here. Again, typical dad. My brothers blotchy faced and speaking through sniffles and sobs. I can barely understand what he’s saying. Other relatives come, all crying and sniffing, and its a ridiculous sight. I’m done with it for now. I don’t want to know how sorry these people are or how they wish I rest in peace. They should’ve apologized when I was alive. It’s too late now.
I float back to my spot near the tree and wait for something to happen. Something other than this monotonously melancholic music and the continuous sea of black people. I see all my friends enter from one end of the ground. All my classmates are here, half of whom I never even talked to. This lifts my spirits (I am a spirit now, so should I say ‘this lifts me’? Being dead is confusing)
They’re making their way to the casket in little groups. Teenagers. They’ll never go anywhere alone. My classmates are talking to my body about all my embarrassingly funny moments. Turns out there are a lot of them.
My friends are teary eyed, but they try to look cheerful and crack jokes.They then start saying something surprising, “Hey listen, we know you didn’t want a gloomy funeral, but that’s what you got.” I know, its disappointing actually.
“We tried telling them, but they shot us down for ‘making fun of your death’. Ridiculous” Adults. Ugh.
“So we planned this after party. There will be colour and music and everything you love! Its a tribute to you and we hope you would come!” I can feel my spirit eyes tear up. They planned a tribute party! For me! I’m definitely going, glad to have some place to go other than this glum funeral.
At last my best friend comes. She’s alone. Usually I would be there with her, but not today. (though I am there, in spirit). She seems to know I’m listening and looks directly upward instead of into the casket. She’s staring me right in the eye, and I can see a tear roll down her cheek. “You didn’t have to do this. But you did.” I nod.
“You always did things you didn’t” She smiles, I return it.
“I hope you’re at peace. I hope you’re happy. And I hope you’ll always remain here. In spirit.” I nod. I will be here, always. She wipes away her tears and grins at me.
“We’re leaving for the party now! You HAVE to come.” I promptly follow her as she makes her way to the others.
The party is everything I could ask for. There’s colour and confetti. There’s fake snow and cake and balloons. People are laughing and crying at the same time. There’s a huge frame of my ugliest picture. Troye Sivan is blaring on the speakers and it’s so much fun. I’m floating around, listening to people reminisce about me. My best friend raises a toast,
“To the girl who died to live! Cheers!”
“CHEERS” The entire hall shouts.
“May you live your death to the fullest” Someone says.
“I will.” I promise as I float above the table everyone’s chatting away at.
I’m the girl who died to live. I was dead when I was alive, but now I’m living dead, and it’s the most alive I’ve felt in a long time.
~going back to my perfect reveire