"...and then, I died."

That had been very difficult to get out.

I shivered, curling my nonexistent coat more tightly around the grey shimmering void of matter that was my body. A cold and lonely wind circled me and perhaps would never stop doing so. Ever since I had left my rotting corpse back in my dark coffin at Branville Cemetery, I had been followed by this persistent gale, this stubborn draught that never ceased to haunt me.

My relatively new friends, however, were not convinced.

"You were supposed to give a detailed account, fact by fact," grumbled Warner, who was a werewolf in his spare time. He peered at me through his red eyes, two dark holes that led down to the depths of hell itself, and pushed away a lock of hair from his forehead.

"I know," I muttered, feeling sorry for myself, "I'm sorry. I haven't gotten over it yet."

"You probably won't," intoned Victor, a well-dressed vampire who sat across the crackling bonfire, frequently flicking off specks of dirt and grime from his silky Raven tailcoat. He rarely went out of his home and had only done so this time because he had reckoned they would pass by a hospital, and he wanted to refill his blood supply. Even now, he was annoyed that they had chosen a remote spot in the woods for this session, as he hated the outdoors.

"Shush, Victor," scolded Saphyre, the last of our small party. She was a pixie and hid that fact quite well. The only features that revealed her to be part of the Faery kingdom, were her teal-shaded hair, and eyes that shone like magic. She was the host of the session and was the first friend I had stumbled upon after wandering out of the Branville cemetery, screaming at the top of my lungs like a lunatic.

"What?" argued Victor. "I'm just saying. The bloke fell from on top of a building, and the only thing that would've made it more depressing was if he had slipped on a banana peel during the process."

"I didn't fall," I snapped. "I was pushed off, by someone I had counted a friend."

"See, now you're opening up," said Warner cheerfully, reaching over and patting me on the back with his bare hands. If he had been a normal human, his hand would've passed through me. That wouldn't have been nice.

"It's okay," comforted Saphyre. "You can open up to any of us. We've all been through hard times, and-"

"I've gone through the hardest times!" said Victor, a pitiful look crossing his face.

"Good joke," said Warner, though the expression on his face was far from it.

"What? I have gone through worse times than the rest of you lot, haven't I?"

"No," scowled Warner, "You were born in a mansion, weren't you? Surrounded by nurses and other people? Unlike me, whose mother was chased by bloodthirsty werewolves, and who had to give birth to her only son in a shack full of gardening equipment, and couldn't even live to see him grow up-"

"That's enough," said Saphyre firmly. "You've had your turn, Warner, and Victor, not another word or we'll leave you here to contend with the hounds alone."

"Ooh," said Victor mockingly, "As if I don't possess the ability to turn into a bat and fly away at the sign of danger, do I?"

"Silence," said Saphyre sternly, and Victor obeyed, muttering to himself angrily.

"As I was saying, we have all gone through hard times, and it's OK if you have some repressed memories. It's perfectly fine to say anything. Just let it out, all right? You can trust us."

I took a deep breath. I hadn't wanted to talk about this, but somewhere inside of me, I felt as if I would get relieved of a great burden if I opened my mouth now, instead of keeping that pain, that suffering inside of me. Besides, Saphyre and the others seemed quite nice to me, although Victor was being kind of a douche. But I couldn't blame him. He'd been shunned from society all his immortal life, and if that didn't make a person a douche, then I don't know what did.

I looked into Saphyre's eyes, and she smiled at me, took my hand. It had felt deathly cold before, but when she held it, it was as if a warmth burst through my heart, making me blush despite myself.

"OK. I'll tell everything."

"Hurrah," said Warner, scratching his whiskers and straightening himself.

A crowing sound echoed through the woods before I began the story of how I died, and I knew then that Death himself had settled on the branches above us, listening to what I had to say. 

About him.

***

It had happened two weeks ago, on a frosty morning in October. How depressing was it that one should die in the morning when the fresh rays of the sun creep up like vines to meet him, and the thrush sings a song, welcoming him to the world once more, welcoming him to a new day?

But that's exactly how it happened. 

I had woken up to the sound of a rock clattering against the pane of my window, startling me. I had squinted through the fog, spotting my best friend Dan waving to me, calling me down. Smiling slightly, I had gotten up, put on a coat, and sneaked down to meet him, careful not to wake up the rest of the people in the house. Then we had clambered off to the Branville Signal Station building, the building with the tall spire on top of it. Dan's father worked there, so I supposed he had been granted special permission to lead people up there to their death.

I suppose the first sign I noticed of my impending death was in Dan's eyes. Instead of the bright cheerful orbs that glinted in the sunlight, they were black, dark, tired. I had first spotted Death in those eyes, staring at me.

"You all right?" I asked him, putting a hand on his shoulders. He was silent.

Another red flag. Dan never refuses to answer a question, no matter how vague the answer would be.

We walked in awkward silence towards the red brick building and climbed up its rusted iron staircase, not saying a word. I had become slightly suspicious, but I hadn't suspected that he would later push me off the damn building. I had suspected a surprise, Clara maybe.

Clara was a girl in the high school Dan and me attended. We had begun exchanging messages a month ago and had gone on our first date last week. Perhaps Dan wanted to surprise me by letting me meet her more privately. What's better than three friends at the top of a building early in the morning?

After what happened next, I assure you, three friends are better than only two at the top of a building, early in the morning.

Anyway, when he had shut the iron wrought door behind me, I said, "So, why'd you bring me here?"

He stared at me.

Angrily.

The smile faded from my face. Something was wrong.

"What's wrong? Why're you staring at me like that?"

Dan remained silent, taking deep breaths to control his sudden upsurge of anger. His fists were clenched, and that was the second sign of Death that I discerned that fateful morning.

He then muttered something in his breath, something I made out to be, "This is for taking her."

Taking who?

I had no time to register those words, because the very next second I found myself on the cold ground, blood seeping from my lip. I had been punched by my best friend.

Is there any greater sorrow than being hurt by the one you never expected to hurt you?

Oh wait, there is. It's getting killed by someone you never thought would kill you.

He grabbed me by the hem of my shirt and dragged me towards the edge of the building. I screamed and got punched more. In the stomach. I had no idea what had taken over him, what demon had inspired him to hurt me.

Through painful eyes, I spotted a crow settling on the corner of the building. The final sign that my time was up.

Dan lifted me, eyes ablaze with fury. 

"I'm sorry."

The last words he said to me. The last words I heard from anyone.

Panic had taken over me now and I was struggling to escape. But I couldn't. Not from fate. 

Not from Death.

Then Dan, a tear sliding down his cheek, mustered all the strength he could and pushed me off the edge. 

Time collapsed as I fell, my body stiff, inelegant. Despite my sudden death, I was at peace. I felt a great calm within. My body arched through the air, and I closed my eyes, uttering my last words, the wind, relentless, cold and unforgiving around me.

Here are my last words:

"I forgive all-"

And then I died.

***

"Well, ain't that a way to go out," murmured Warner. They were all silent, leering at me like I was a madman. 

"I have told you the truth," I said, looking down at my feet. "Nothing more."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Saphyre said, and I was surprised to see tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

She hastily wiped them off and clambered over to hug me. I closed my eyes, feeling the scent of her teal-shaded hair envelop me. It was sweet and welcoming.

"Well, I for one, think that was too dramatic," Victor sneered. Warner hurled a piece of wood at him, which Victor caught with inhuman agility.

"Anyway, forgive Saphyre," said Victor. "She's sensitive like that."

"Oh do be quiet," scoffed Saphyre, but she was smiling. "Well, I guess we can move on now-"

"Wait!" objected Victor. "Why the hurry? He hasn't told us why he died yet."

They looked at me questioningly. 

"Well, I don't know myself," I said quietly. "Dan mentioned something about me taking someone from him."

"Someone he loved maybe?" suggested Warner.

"Wait, you're not implying he secretly loved Clara, are you?" I asked. "That's stupid, he could have easily told that to me-"

I stopped in my tracks, remembering that morning clearer than ever. I remembered the way Dan had behaved, like the devil himself...

"It can't be Clara," I insisted, fighting off a wave of emotions inside me. "Dan wouldn't kill for love, would he?"

Warner grunted. "You'd be surprised at what humans can do over petty things like love."

"All the more reason to wipe them off from the face of the earth," Victor snarled. 

"You literally drink their blood, Victor."

"Oh right, I forgot. I'd die without them. Hah." 

There was silence for a few minutes and I played with the sticks at my feet, before saying, "Well, what am I supposed to do now? I'm dead. I have nothing to do anymore."

"You can live with me," suggested Warner immediately, "Down at my laboratory in downtown. You can be my assistant, while I make awesome potions, the chemist I am-"

"No," disagreed Saphyre, "I think you should visit Death first, find out why you died. You'll live in unease all your life if you don't."

"I've already met him," I said, glancing at the crow who branched high above, "And I don't want anything to do with him anymore."

"It's as you wish," said Saphyre, "But I do think you should go and find out. I know many ghosts who live their lives in hate of what killed them, even when their hate is unjustified. So you should go and search for that reason, no?"

I said nothing. Should I confront Death? Or should I live my life uncertain of the reason why I died?

The truth was, I didn't want to find out.

***