As posted on Typetrigger.
My body lay in its coffin, perfectly still. It was dressed in my best tan suit, in my shoes that had never looked so polished. A sterile expression was drawn across its face; what used to be my face. The eyes were done up with eyeliner which looked absolutely ridiculous, and the skin was ghostly pale.
Ghostly. Wait a second, what am I now exactly? Is this what it’s like to be a ghost? Looking down on my own body? Am I stuck like this forever? I mean, I know my body has reached its end, that’s what a heart attack will do to you, but what happens to me know?
I moved closer to my body. I tried to feel for a sense of form, but I had no arms or legs, no human bits. Yet I could see around me clearly and float in any direction I wished. I was directly above my head now. I tried to enter its nostrils, but I only bounced back. Great, I get to be a ghost that can’t even move through objects. Where are the perks for crying out loud!
The room was empty; a church. The purple cushioned chairs were laid out in a horseshoe surrounding the stage and the coffin and its stand. For the love of all that’s good and holy I hope I’m early for my funeral. I only get one shot at this.
I flew, err… traveled across the room to the exit only to be trapped by the church hall doors. Blasted, damn ghost powers. After a while of floating in place and moping about my miserable existence, a door opened. In came the priest who walked past the chairs and up to the stage. He closed the coffin lid. I missed my last farewell.