The world is starting to spin around me. I try to take a deep breath in but remember that I can no longer breathe.  I can still feel my heart beating in my chest. How can I feel my heart beating in my chest? My mind is spinning almost as fast as the world around me. I can’t seem to understand what is happening. I saw my cold dead body and the blood pooling around my head. But, yet, for some reason, I still can feel the patter of my heart quicken as I contemplate what is happening to me. Why aren’t demons reaching for my ankles to pull me into the depths of hell or a white light, lined with angels, awaiting me to step up to the gates of heaven?
An EMT rushes past me, making me lose my train of thought. Police and fire trucks have arrived and I look over to see an officer going through my recent calls. Sarah. I forgot about Sarah. She could be hurt or in danger, these people shouldn’t be worried about me, I’m already dead. I start picking up things and throwing them at people to try and get their attention but no one notices, it’s as if the objects were never moved. I begin screaming, hoping any one will hear me. “HELP! SOMEONE LISTEN TO ME!” I start to throw more and more things as I scream, “NOTICE ME! ANYONE! SARAH NEEDS HELP!” I start to feel this rush of emotion and reach up to touch my wet cheek. I’m crying.
Through my weeping, I hear the voice of a girl talking “He’s about six feet tall. He has brown hair and brow-“ Her subtle tears turn to sobs before she can finish her sentence. I turn around to see who it is, guessing it’s my mom or some random girl from school.
“Sarah,” I know she can’t hear me but I can’t help but whisper her name. She’s Okay. I want to run up to her and hug her but I know I can’t, so I just watch her as she falls to the ground. All of a sudden I can’t hear the police officers or the sirens, I don’t notice the rain or the sun rising. All I can see is Sarah, leaning over my body, covered in my fresh blood. Her tears drop like anchors, each one sounding like a million tons of heavy metal. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail and whatever liquor was in her earlier, has left.
She lays her head down on my chest and softly mumbles the words “I’m sorry,” over and over again.
“It’s not your fault.” I wish she could her me. It’s not her fault.
She lifts up her head just enough to whisper the words “but I should have saved you.”
Slowly, the raindrops begin to fall again and the chattering and sirens commence. Before long, a few medics begin to pull her off my body. She screams and cries and fights until her body can’t handle the pain anymore. I turn around so I don’t have to see her. It’s hard to see anyone in this much pain, let alone Sarah. After a few hours, they take the body and everyone, but Sarah, leaves. She looks up at the sky, all emotion drained from her face. “Why? Why would you do this to him? Why did you do this to me? You should have taken me instead; it would have been better that way. This isn’t fair, God. He’s all I had and now he’s-“ Her voices cracks and she looks down at the ground as if saying the word ‘dead’ was a physical struggle “He’s- dead.” I can almost see her heart drop to the ground through her chest as she says it.
The next morning comes and a few of Sarah’s friends come to pick her up from the scene of the car accident. They help her into her house and she topples onto her bed. Soon enough, she falls asleep. I remember how comforting it was when someone would watch me sleep. When I was younger, my mom used to watch me fall asleep, worried I would stop breathing or something.
My mom. I feel bad that I didn’t think of my mom until now but as Sarah falls asleep, the thought of her crosses my mind. Did anyone tell my mom? Does she know? I can’t get to my mom’s house any faster. The old, rusted cottage stares through me like a thousand bullets. I walk in the door and see her sitting on the ground, holding an old photo album. Even though they divorced years ago, my dad sits next to her. They know. Her tears hit the pictures one at a time as she flips through the old yellowed pages. My father sits over her, pretending he’s not crying too. This makes me wonder what made him come here. What told him to come to mom’s house of all places? I watch mom as she reaches up and wipes a few tears, along with yesterday’s make up until I can’t handle watching her anymore.
I walk upstairs to find my sister, Jamie, sitting in her room on her bed. Pieces of paper and cards cover her faded purple sheets. Her classical music is playing so loud that it could be mistaken for heavy metal. I walk in closer to realize the one thing I was worried about, the papers on her bed are all the letters or cards I’ve ever given her. Growing up, every time I went anywhere I would write her a letter or send her a card, even it was to spend the night across the street. I never knew she kept them all, half of the time, I didn’t even think she read them. She keeps reading one letter over and over again. I can’t tell which letter it is but It’s dated from when I went off to Haiti for a year two years ago. It must be the first letter I sent her, that was my favorite letter too.
Her eyes are swollen from crying, I’m guessing, but she still keeps reading. Word after word, letter after letter, she still keeps reading. Foot steps come from the hallway and she gathers all of the letters up and stuffs them under the bed before mom comes in. “Dinner time, alfredo: your favorite.” I don’t think Jamie has the heart to tell mom that it’s actually my favorite so she just tells her that she’ll be down in a second. Before she walks out of her room, Jamie lifts the worn out letter and kisses it then jumps off her bed and heads down stairs. Throughout dinner, the sounds of forks and plates clamored in the silence. It was so quiet the house almost seemed empty, much like what they must feel.
Seeing them like this kills me inside. I just want to go to wherever we go after life. I can’t be here. I can’t see them. Why am I here? The question bounces through my transparent skull like a bouncy ball on hard wood floors. Out of nowhere, it hits me. I’m here because Jamie keeps reading my letters and mom keeps looking through my pictures and Sarah keeps wishing I were here instead of her. I’m here because they want me to be. Even though, I am dead, they are the thing that’s keeping me alive. Because of them, I’m still here.  Because of them, IM STILL ALIVE.