It feels like only yesterday I was enjoying a strenuous squash game with my teenage son. The last thing I remember was my racquet hitting the ball into a perfect shot. There was sumptuous delight in demonstrating to Timothy that I was still on top form. I hadn't forgotten how he had goaded me in our last game about my weight slowing me down.
Then quite unexpectedly, I dropped dead.
Whaaaaat? Where was the warning signs? Apparently, I had been taken down by a ‘silent heart attack’, not even a flea’s chance to clasp my breast and look one last time into my beautiful son’s terrified eyes.
Some days pass.
On an overcast day on the outskirts of Anytown, at the ritual scattering of dirt onto my coffin, the last vestiges of my earthly energies forced me at speed out of the grave and upwards, hovering ten feet above the vicar. I would have screamed with the shock of it -- if I had lungs. I could see and hear, but I had no corpus, therefore no sense of touch. I kept checking to see if I had been left with a faint outline of my deceased lifeform, but there was nothing.
My elderly parents and son, plus my ex-wife amd her new hubby stood together. Close by, a tiny group of other mourners were shuffling about. I recognised my rotund family doctor, and a couple of old school friends.
I was perplexed to note that I could overhear multiple conversations, though no one seemed to be talking. Then it struck me. I was able to pick up thoughts!
You always put making money over family. Maybe now you'll rest, you fool - Linda, my ex. I noted she was flaunting the diamonds and designer outfit I had given her.
Hope there's beer at the wake - Timothy
Swapping your heart pills for placebos was a doddle. Thanks for bequeathing me the million dollars. Moron. Dr Richard Lang. You sly old bastard.
I practised mobilising in my new invisi-state. Without limbs and a nervous system, it was a tricky endeavour. After a few minutes I managed to knock off Linda’s hat, though as it occurred during a gust of wind, I couldn’t be sure it was down to my efforts.
Next I tried to communicate to Timothy, with all my might, that I would always love him. He did look up and scratch his ear.
Finally, I wafted over to my parents, hugging them as best I could. They huddled a little closer together, and Dad muttered, “We’ll get through this,” to which Mum whispered back, “I know, I feel like he’s here somehow.”
Finally, I flew to the neighbouring plot. The marble headstone read: Here lies Brian and Vanessa Lang, and our beloved son, Richard. I did my best to stomp over the grave, and was gratified to see Dr Lang’s face go pale and his hand going too slow for his angina spray. As he fell, I too descended.
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