(What Passes For) Another Plane Of Existence
by Michelle K.

1. these are the lies we tell ourselves

You don't remember dying, but you know you're dead. You've seen the news footage, the memorials to your name. You think it's, like, totally stupid that you should have to exist in a world that doesn't recognize you anymore. Even hell would be better than feeling nothing, looking into the sun without seeing spots, watching your fingers move through flesh.

The worst part is, you're not sure whom you should want to touch anymore. One of them did it, right? One of them killed you, and you don't even know whom you should hate.

At least you know it's not Veronica. That's something.

 

2. there's still a little bit of your taste in my mouth

When you kissed Veronica, everyone thought it was a joke. And you meant it (to look) that way. Maybe if Veronica were a little different, you would've made it serious. But maybe if she were different, you wouldn't have wanted to kiss her.

And though it was so quick, you remember the softness of her lips, the taste of her mouth. It's highly possible that you imagined those details to give the kiss more significance.

But you're dead. You oughtta have something nice to think about.

 

3. i'm still the angel to a girl who hates to sin

Veronica is still obsessed with you, and you've tricked your brain -- well, maybe you don't technically have a brain now, but there is a mind that works overtime -- into thinking she loves you. That she shuts off her light at night and slips her hand between her legs while thinking of your breasts spilling out of your dress. Even the idea of her having puritanical fantasies -- walking through a valley hand in hand, and you suppose your sorta-mind must really be working to make you imagine the dreams of particularly silly virgins of many decades ago -- makes you feel... something.

Makes you really miss the feel of skin.

 

4. this is how our story ends

Maybe you'll get what you want this time around. See the killer caught, all that stuff that ghosts are supposed to utterly long for, and have your reason for still existing fulfilled. Move from this purgatory to a version of heaven, meet the angels and God, see the things your mother said you were too much of a screw-up to deserve.

Or maybe dead girls don't matter, and you'll just stay in the shadows, waiting for answers that don't exist.

But you never know.

 

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