Hello? Colin? For God's sake, why do you never pick up
your phone? ...that's not how I wanted to start this conversation. The thing
is, I'm calling, or rather recording this voice message hoping it will actually
record, to tell you that I'm alright and you shouldn't worry about me. I mean,
I AM dead, as you probably found out already, but other than that I'm having
quite a lot of fun. Now that I'm free of social expectations and boundaries
like time, I came to the conclusion that I actually regret not talking to you
for the last seven years. After all, you used to be my best friend. So let me
catch you up on my life (and death).
As you most likely read in the city newspaper (I still
can't believe they gave that material to that newbie Danny. I deserved
better!), I have recently departed life in a rather messy manner. You'd think
that death was the end of all my day-to-day worries, just as I always expected,
but it's not that simple. True, I don't have to think about my boss's opinion
of me anymore, I can annoy him with repetitive noises all that I please and
he's helpless – it's hilarious, honestly. I also made sure he regrets some of
his decisions like buying that heavy, hard-edged name plaque. But some of the
boring, adult-life struggles stick with you like that frigging ectoplasm. Wait,
have I ever complained to you about my work environment? I don't recall.
Picture this: eight middle-aged men convinced they're the best reporters the
world has ever seen, an intern, me, and only one coffee machine. Luckily, I
don't need coffee anymore.
Jokes aside, the life of a female journalist can be
tough, and I'm not sure what's worse, sexism or sensation articles. Although
our city isn't the safest and I've seen quite a few murder sites, they never
really bothered me. Almost as if I expected one day I would become the white
line on the ground. But nobody could have seen that betrayal coming... I hope
this bastard is at least haunted by his shameless actions that led to shooting
me while I was catching a cab. What a lack of dignity!
You know the trope with looking at your feet and
seeing yourself laying lifelessly on the pavement? I did exactly that, but the
discovery of having fled my mortal body wasn't my biggest problem. The absolute
worst was the realisation how horrible my outfit was that day. Black sweater
and a maxi brown skirt, can you imagine? What am I, forty? ...I guess I'm
ageless now.
The point is, I was mortified to think that was how I
was going to be remembered, especially with the news coverage regarding my
departure. I decided to use the opportunity of a new (after)life and make a
change. Yeah, I knew there had to be more of an 'unfinished business' for me to
become a ghost, but in the initial shock adjusting my new, partly-transparent
appearance seemed like a start. So I focused on figuring out how to control my
image, since good old putting clothes on wasn't an option anymore.
At the beginning I thought I'd have to work with
boring grey, but an hour of wandering around the city was enough to discover
that my colour adapts to the surroundings – I had to get out of the concrete
area first. A colourful human blob is better than a drab blob, but it still
wasn't the look I was going for. Frustrated with my fruitless efforts and slowly
getting out of the denial phase, I started thinking about all the enjoyable
moments of my life that I had now irretrievably lost. The first article I
published in a paper, playing with my chinchilla, the 22nd birthday scavenger
hunt, buying my favourite dress... boom! Suddenly I was wearing the polka-dot
dress, except instead of black and white it was bricky-red and moss-green like
the old ruin I was passing by. From there it only took a couple of moments of
screwing around with memories and 'dyes' until I was finally satisfied.
Then I could get back to the real reason I'm in this
state at all. I could go and torment my boss for the rest of his life. Now, if
you feel like helping me, I would be really grateful for spamming him with
no-requirements loan offers, or, like, cutting off his right arm. Thank you in
advance and I hope you're doing well! Kisses, your cold, but fabulous friend.
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