Till Death Do Us Part {Completed}

Chapter Twenty-One - Shooting Stars

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Death didn’t come.

            Believe me, I waited. But after several seconds of shouts in the distance and the relentless pain, finally I opened my eyes and lifted my head to see why I hadn’t suddenly joined Finn or been sent to the white light or whatever came after you were shot in the head and killed.

            I thought if I was turned into a ghost I’d at least get a pep talk before I woke up six months later as a newly reformed ghost, and I was curious to see how the world had moved on without me. If my family was slowly getting over the loss, if my friends were in college, what Finn had been doing. Had he fulfilled his life’s purpose and been sent to the afterlife? Because that would suck majorly, now that I’d be stuck here all alone. Well, at least that would mean Lucas had been sent to jail, and my death had been avenged, as well as Finn’s. So that was a bonus right there. It would mean my death hadn’t been for nothing.

            But what I saw before me was not something I expected.

            At first I saw a vast stretch of sky, an unrelenting black with absolutely no color to change it up besides the sprinkling of stars that dusted the sky like powdered sugar on a cake. The tops of trees also broke it up, and I could see a half-crescent moon at its apex through a gap in the branches. Looking around me, I saw I was submerged in dirt, my fingernails caked with it, and it was smeared all over my skin. Leaves covered my jeans and shirt, and I frowned. Really? I couldn’t even look nice in the afterlife? I had to be all dirty and disheveled?

            I could hear distant shouts, and the sound of bass thrumming through the ground. And that’s when it hit me.

            I’m a ghost. Ghosts can’t feel pain; at least, not physically.

            So then why the hell did my shoulder feel like it was ready to spontaneously combust at any moment?

            I looked down, to see blood leaching out of a hole in my shoulder, and I felt myself gag at the sight of the sticky substance. But, when I looked down at my chest, and when my fingertips probed my forehead for bullet holes, I came up short.

            Ghosts didn’t bleed, either.

            Which meant I was either some cosmic malfunction.

            Or I was still alive.

            I sat up with a gasp, and let out a moan as an agonizing pain rippled through my body, alerting me to the fact that apparently I had been shot in the shoulder. Well, it was better than a bullet between the eyes, I supposed.