Belonging

My death was much like my birth - painful, shrieking, and a mistake. I knew better than to drink and drive, of course, but with a beer in my hand and the wind in my hair, rules seemed to be evaporate before my eyes.

Of course, the rules of gravity apply to everyone.

Off the old bridge, into the river. My last tangible thought was when my booze spilled on my lap as I was momentarily suspended in the air - floating, weightless. I thought, 'shit, I paid for that' and that’s when I smashed into the creek and got to sleep with my fishes.

But...
I'm not dead yet. At least, I don't think I am.
Fish nibble at my body, drawn by the blood that stains the water - my blood. They come in swarms, silver shards darting around my legs. I shoo them away with a splash, and retch at the coppery scent. My foot brushes against something - a log, garbage? -

And so I come face to face with myself.

She - I - is lying in the river, my/her neck twisted at an impossible angle, shards of metal and glass puncturing her/my gut. Already, the fish nibble.

"Hey."

I wrench my eyes away from the - my corpse and meet the shy gaze of a boy - doe eyes, dark hair. He looks all too much like my brother... although something isn't quite right.

My gaze settles on his knee, where it seems his leg has been ripped from its owner.

"You...?"

"Yeah. I was working on my Dad's farm, got plowed by a tractor." As he steps into the moonlight, I see shadows of jagged scars along his neck and face, to harsh, it seems, for the young boy's innocent face. "How about you? Looks like you got in a mean wreck."

"Yes. I was drinking." I step closer, the water rippling as I move. "Look, am I...?"

"Somewhat." His smile is boyish as he offers me his hand. "That’s why I'm here."

"Are you an angel?"

He doubles over, chortling like I'd just announced some vulgar joke. I frown, and he catches my eye.

"Sorry. " He winks. "Nah, I'm no angel. I'm just an escort to the Betwixt."

"What is that? Is it Heaven?" I gaze skywards, the stars gleaming in the slowly darkening night. . "I don't belong in Heaven."

"Well, that’s great, 'cause I don't think there even is a Heaven. That’s just fairy tales, created by people afraid of what comes after." He smiles. "People who want something to hope for."

"So what is it, then? Reincarnation? Hell?"

"You'll see."

He grasps my hand - his fingers are long and smooth, his palms cold as frostbreath -

And then everything - my boyfriend's face, the eyes of my corpse, the kid's hand - it all swirls on a pinpoint until everything collapses upon itself like a crushed paper cup.

***

"Is she alive?"

"We're all dead, asshole, that’s why we're here!"

"Well, I'm alive..."

"No. You're not."

The voices continue to argue - inside my head or elsewhere, I'm not sure - until I decide to put a stop to it.

"SHUT UP."

Good. Whether fictitious or real, both voices hush, allowing me to rest in peace.

"Excuse me...?"

"Nggghhh." I haul my beaten body from the mattress to find boys and girls - all children - gaping at me, eyes bulging. Among them, I see my 'escort' - he waves, and whistles.

"Listen up, guys." A few lone voices continue to whisper, but all goes quiet when the boy begins to speak. "I know this may be 'kinda weird, but she's here now, so she gets the offer - just like the rest of you did."

Hushed muttering. A few snorts, moans.

"But she's an adult!"

"Yeah, so? What does it matter? She wouldn't be here if she wanted to go on."

'Go on?' I wonder. Intrigued by this gathering, I sit on the bed, my ears twitching at every spoken word.

"Anyway, she ain't a real adult - she's between. She's us and them - and she might wants to stay. So everybody quit 'yer bellyaching!"

The mob disperses and the boy approaches me, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

"You should thank me, y'know. They would have tried to kick you out."

"Why?"

He rolls his eyes, as though I had asked how to tell left from right. "Because you're almost an adult. Adults don't come to the Betwixt - they move on. They're tired, usually. Us, though, we're still strong, we want to keep going."

"...Oh."

"It isn't fair." As though in afterthought, he whispers, eyes narrowing. "It isn't fair that life was snatched from us - that’s why this place was made."

"What do you do here?" I smile, trying to make the bitterness in his eyes fade away. "Kid stuff?"

"Yeah. We work, we play. We help other kids, too."
He sidles towards me, eyes downcast. "You're a bit of a special case, though - that’s why were making you a deal."

"A deal?"

"Most people don't choose what happens, in life-after-death." He explains. "It just... happens. Me, I was real angry, just being dead all of a sudden, so I came here. "His smiles grimly. "Most adults - some kids - just want to sleep. Just want it all to end. They ... move on. You get a choice, though."

The room seems cold, suddenly. I look around again - brightly colored curtains, playful rugs, toys and sleeping bags litter the ground.

"You should stay here." He finishes. "With us. Here we have everything we need, but when you move on..."
Again, he speaks in whispers. "Its all just black, I hear. Pitch dark. And you don't get to bring a night-light."

All this drifts through my mind, a hazy fog of thought. Finally, I am able to speak - my mouth feels dry, my tongue thick and stupid and unable to speak.

"I need some time. To think."

~
I do think - and work, and play. Daily, I am assigned to visit places across the globe, helping children whose lives were stolen by death's swift hand. When evening draws near, we all gather and play games I remember from childhood - Hide 'N Seek, Tag, Grounders. By night we are all curled up in bed, some sucking their thumbs and others softly snoring.

I am the only one who wakes up screaming.

Between. This word is constantly on my tongue, like a candy gone bad. I am too old to play games, too old to sleep without nightmares raping my mind. But...

I don't want it all to end.
...I still need a night-light.

One evening, in the middle of a game called 'Duck Duck Goose', I settle near the boy - whose name I still have not asked - and whisper.

"I'm going to go."

He glances at me, horrified.

"You don't like it here?"

"I do, I do. But..." It hurts to say it, but I know this is right.
"I don't belong. You kids... you had your lives stolen. I was stupid - I gave mine away."

He nods. "I think... I understand." Rising, he gestures for me to follow him.

The room is dark, the kind appreciated only by dreamers and the beasts that lurk in their nightmares. The boy grabs my hand, leads me into what I think is the center of the place as the door shuts behind us."

"Well." He whispers. "Good luck."

No flash, no burst of smoke, no sudden beam of light. I was there, and now I'm not, as though 'there' had never existed.

It did. I know it did.

"Dreamer."

A bent, wrinkled man stands beside me, only half my height. His voice is so soft, but so loud in this void of...

'Where am I?'

"This is where we sleep. This is our resting place." He gazes at me through glazed eyes, pale blue and crinkled. " I sense life in you. I can feel the vigor, the energy. Child, why are you here?"

"I..." My I feel smothered in this black - I choke on my words. "I didn't belong with them. The children. So I came here."

He places his hands on my shoulders - I feel like a toddler, being taught the meaning of life.

"This is not where you should be."

"But..." I can feel my eyes water - I haven't cried in years, nearly a decade. "Where will I go?"

"You must create your own path, child." As he speaks, I am reminded of my grandfather - a powerful, bellowing man, who worked as a veterinarian and could gently cradle kittens in his hands. "You will find a way."

"I can't." Everything that has happened - my death, the confusion, the loneliness of never belonging - it all collides into me like a tidal wave - my tears join the tides. "I'm lost and I don't know where I should go and there's nowhere left and -"

"There is always somewhere. We all belong."

As he speaks, a single light gleams behind him - the moon, in all its silver glory, glows amidst the black.
I smile.

"Of course." I murmur.

The man's words echo in my mind - ' we all belong. You do not find your place, child - you create it.'

I must create my place. My home.
Am I going to let a little thing like death stop me?

~