The only mourner at your own funeral

Burial

I didn't know where to go, so I just followed my body. I watched the paramedics arrive and declare me dead. I followed my corpse into the ambulance and to the morgue.

A few days later I was sitting on the floor in the morgue in front of the drawer that held my body. I had tried opening it at least a hundred times, but I still couldn't touch anything. I hopelessly grabbed at and passed through the handle over and over again for hours. Eventually I had given up and sat down to keep vigil over my corpse. I didn't try to sleep; I just knew somehow that I wouldn't be able to. I just sat and watched, but somehow I never got bored. I still knew that time was passing, but I didn't really feel like I was participating in it. It was like I was watching the river of time flow by me, but I wasn't floating down it anymore. A moment felt like a lifetime and days felt like seconds.

Eventually (if anything in a timeless existence can be eventually) three men came and opened the drawer.

"Oh, thank you!" I cried, though I knew they couldn't hear me. I just needed to speak to someone. "Thank you so much."

My voice was really loud in the silence.

I walked up to my body between two of the men. I eagerly reached out to touch me, but my hand passed through my chest. I tried to climb up on the table and lay in the corpse, hoping that I might come back to life if I got back in my body, but apparently I couldn't jump as a spirit. I stepped back after another moment of trying.

Why did I even want to get back to life? I was a troubled kid who had just run away from a girls' home and was alone on the streets. I was suicidal for peats sake! I wanted to die when I was alive, so why did I suddenly want to live now that I was dead? Grass is greener on the other side I guess... I thought.

I watched the men as they packed up my body and followed them as they put it in a truck and drove it out of town. Finally we pulled into a small lot and they unloaded me. I looked around and saw a field covered with slabs of marble stuck in the ground. A cemetery.

The men grabbed shovels from the truck and walked to an empty spot where they started digging. I ran over to my body and leaned over it. I frantically put my hands in it, looking for some reaction, something! I lay down in me, closed my eyes and got back up hoping that my body would stick to me, but it was still lying there cold and alone.

I knelt next to it. "Please," I begged me, tearing up, "please take me back! I'm sorry I hurt you." I placed my hand on the scars on my body's arm as I spoke. "I'm sorry I wanted to kill me. Please let me back in! I want to live again! I was wrong to want to die, please. Just...let me live!"

There was no response. No sound except for the thump and swish of the shovels behind me. I buried my face in my ghostly hands and sobbed my heart out.

Finally, the diggers were done and they came to get my body. I grabbed at their arms, trying to hold them back, pleading with them. "Please! Don't take it away! It's all I have left!! Please!!!" They didn't make any sign that they felt my presence.

They placed my body in a hole and I watched, helpless, tears streaming down my face as I watched them throw dirt over it. I looked around the empty cemetery and realized, no one was here. No one had come to mourn me. I mean, I hadn't thought anyone would. No one had ever loved me, and no one had even known where I left when I ran away. It just hurt me to see how empty it really was. I was the only mourner at my own funeral.

I fell to my knees and sobbed.