His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say "I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come." Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.

(Markus Zusak, The Book Thief)

It should be a stormy day, today.

Okay, so the truth is, I have no idea whatsoever how to begin this. Nobody prepares you for this moment in life, so I'm winging this the best way I can.

You see, today should be a stormy day - though I'm not sure why. I always liked stormy days, those heavy gray clouds provided the perfect kind of setting for one to sit down and enjoy a good book.

When the sun was shining too bright, reading gave me a headache. Though the heat was never unbearable - one of the plus sides of living in Riversong, Canada - it still brought on my infamous migraines.

So, you see, I never truly understood why people hated stormy days so much, but then, I never understood people, in general. Sometimes I wondered whether there was something in me that was broken, something that made it incredibly hard to function with other people around.

I didn't care anymore.

I had my books, and in books, at least, there must be some kind of logic. Some kind of joy.

And the comfort of knowing that, no matter what happens, there will be a happy ending waiting for you.

Or not, if that's your thing. That's ok too.

I felt my hand twitching. It happened some times, when I'd been away from books for too long - I'd find myself craving to spend some time with Sherlock, or to chill at Hogwarts with Harry or fighting alongside Percy Jackson.

What can I say, some people are addicted to chocolate, I'm addicted to books.

But it still seemed slightly... cruel. Outside that window, I could hear laughter. People were talking, playing. The sun was shining, the sky in an unusual shade of blue.

Fine, if I was home, I'd be inside my room. I'd be sitting on my comfortable window seat, the one Dad had installed for me when I was six and learning to read. I swear half the reason I read so much was because that window seat was so comfortable.

The other reason, well, I liked it. That feeling of freedom that came from turning a page, jumping into another world.

Now, I wondered if I would ever get this feeling again.

Hi, I'm Maisie Pereira and I just died.

I'm sorry if I'm being too abrupt about this. I guess I'm still a little bit in shock myself. It's hard to hear the Doctor pronounce these words to your parents.

It's even harder to watch them hearing this.

I... I didn't know I was dead. I mean, one would think it was obvious right? No heartbeat, no breathing... But I thought I was in a coma or something. It made sense, after all – I was standing beside my body, but I was aware of everything that was going on... hence I was in a coma and would wake up soon.

Or, like, not soon at all. I've heard people sometimes stay in a coma for years...

I just didn't expect to be... dead.

I had been in this hospital room for days now, and I didn't even know when I died. I knew I had been alive when I arrived, but how could I slip away into the eternal sleep without being aware of it?

I should have known. Someone should have asked me what I wanted. I should have seen a light, a tunnel, whatever.

How can one die and not even know they are dead?

Suddenly I felt cold, and I found myself rubbing my arms for warmth. That looked ridiculous - I was dead.

DEAD. I shouldn't be able to feel cold if I was dead.

I shouldn't be able to feel anything, anything at all. I was dead.

I glanced at myself, lying there on that uncomfortable hospital bed. It felt as if I was lying on the floor, the thing was so hard - but it was clean. I was wearing what should pass for a white sheet, and had scrapes on my cheeks, hands and legs.

Oh, yeah, and a huge gash on my head. That might have been what did the killing me thing.

The doctor that was taking care of me was trying to explain things to my parents, but I couldn't really understand what was being said. First, I was fourteen - the doctor might as well be speaking Chinese to me, for all I understood. Second, my mother was wailing so loud, it was hard to hear anything but that.

Third, there was the fact that I was seeing people cleaning up my body, preparing it for... I didn't want to think what for.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but suddenly I couldn't look at my body anymore. My dead body being cleaned up by the nurses - it was giving me shudders to think about it. So I moved away, walked out of the room and headed towards the waiting room of the hospital.

Where Jace and Joanne are.

They are my siblings, though to be honest, they look nothing like me. In a way, it was a relief to look at them instead of at myself.

It was really creepy, to be watching your own body. I took a deep breath and shook my head, deciding to focus on the twins instead.

Jace was pacing – out of my siblings, he was the one closest to me. He was the one who would sneak up in my room to read me fairy tales when I was little, then horror stories as I grew up. I think he liked seeing me scared out of my mind, but I never complained... Well, not for real. He was also the one who sneaked new books into my bedroom and who kept me stocked on chocolate.

And the one who would make me marshmallow sandwiches when I cried.

I hated that he was so anxious. I kind of wanted to pop in and say 'hey, guess what! It's ok, you don't need to worry anymore. I'm ok.', but I don't think he's going to believe that me being dead is ok.

Though I'm... you know, now that I'm actually thinking about it, I'm kind of good with it. I didn't have big dreams that are never going to be true, and, well, I heard romance was overestimated anyway. I never wanted to die, but now I did and I don't feel really sad.

I feel... I feel like I accomplished what I needed to do and now I was ready for whatever was next.

But I don't feel dead. And by that, I mean, I don't feel like everything is over, you know? If I focus, I can also feel the hands of the nurses as they clean me up.

I know. Creepy.

But in a strange way, that was also centering me. If I still felt pain, I was alive, wasn't I? Maybe that's why I haven't panicked yet. I don't feel dead yet.

After all, what exactly is death?

I had never thought much about it, but now I was dead and I had no idea at all what it meant.

Something told me I better get started.

"Stop pacing, Jace, it's getting on my nerves," Joanne complained, glaring at him over her phone. I kind of wanted to kick her in the chin.

After all, this whole situation was happening because of her anyway.

"Too bad." He replied, glaring at her. "You were supposed to be looking after Maisie, how could you let her be hit by a car?"

Ehh, by pushing me into it?

In all honesty, I don't think she actually intended on doing that, but that new beau of hers had just arrived and I think she got embarrassed I was still there.

If you consider I came back because I forgot what kind of coffee she drank, maybe I was the bad sister after all.

Then again, her preferences changed weekly- it depended on what was trendy right now – so can you blame me?

Anyway, her boyfriend came, she pushed me away from her which lead me to trip on my own feet and fall in front of the car. BAM. The end.

What a pitiful way to die. I mean, it's a pathetic way to end my life, my story.

I wish my death had been better, greater – maybe during a great act of bravery - like, I died saving a thousand lives - or even that I died saving a dog out of a fire. Or even a cat - I like cats. Heck, I'd settle to die because I was saving a fish.

But no, I died because I have a terrible memory and a sister with fickle tastes.

I could almost taste the joke in there.

As the twins argue – Jace is pretty angry at Joanne, who doesn't really care – I keep sighing. So, I'm dead. This is it.

What's next?

I look around searching for an answer, but nothing comes handy. I mean, I'm in the hospital's corridor, people walking all around me, my siblings arguing. I think I hear a scream – and I'm pretty sure that's mom's – so I don't believe she's taking this well, which makes my stomach turn. But what can I do? I'm dead. What's next?

Am I going to be... haunting this place? This idea is so disgusting, I almost can't take it. I don't want to haunt a hospital, I want to do something different. Something... not to do with death and suffering, maybe.

Heck, I don't want to be a ghost!

I wince as I think of myself as a ghost - I don't think I'm good for the part. I don't like making people mad or sad - much less scared. I'm a people pleaser all around. What was it Ingreth always said? Oh, that I didn't know how to say no. What good am I as a ghost?

Man, I totally am going to become a friendly Casper kind of ghost. Totally. My fellow ghost comrades are going to make fun of me and I'll be bullied in the afterlife worst than I was during life.

This is not a very exciting prospect.

Another look around and, no, nobody is there for me. I feel like that little kid whose parents have forgotten to pick up at school – every little noise I'm looking around, hoping someone is there to pick me up, hoping I haven't been forgotten.

It seems I have been, though. Forgotten. Because there's no one there.

So, so. What am I going to do? Haunting the hospital doesn't sound good to me, so maybe...

Oh, hey! I know. I'm going to tell a story! I've read so many books during my lifetime, this should be easy peasy - and being a friendly ghost storyteller sounds a lot better than being friendly Casper look alike. Mm, I don't want to tell my story though.

The end is too pitiful, and to be honest, my life before this wasn't all that interesting either. I mean, I went to school, I got good grades, I got back home and I read. That was it.

See, no fun.

No, this story's main character is going to be a girl named Ingreth Silva. Ingreth is cool, she's smart and she's my best friend.

And if I'm fated to become a narrator after my death, well, at least I'm going to narrate the story of someone I like.

See, this is the other thing I never understood. You see, ghosts - everybody always talks about ghosts haunting people and places after their death, but would you really want to stay in a place that carried bad memories for you? Or follow someone around if you absolutely hated them?

Granted, that would possibly make it easier to scare them out of their minds.

For example, if I were to follow Joanne, I'd probably see her crying over my death, all the while she snickers at me behind their back, saying my death was pathetic.

Not that I don't agree with her, but still.

Not that anyone would ever believe that of her - but I was tired of getting disappointed. Too many mean jokes and competition would do that to you - and Joanne, she always had to be the best. I never understood that, though. Why would Joanne, the popular girl who got the looks and the grades even care about what her baby sister was doing? Nobody cared about the baby sister.

Until she was in an accident, then suddenly everybody was all about it. I mean, seriously, I've been counting at least six best friends since Friday's evening - and out of these, five of them were tripping me in the school's hallway just last week.

The other one is Ingreth. My actual best friend - you know, the one whose story I'm going to tell.

And how am I supposed to go about it anyway? I should know better, I mean, I spent more than half my life reading books - I should know how to narrate them, right?

I feel like such a failure.

But that makes me think, what are they going to do with my books anyway? I mean, I don't care whether they sell or donate my clothes, but my books better be very well taken care of. They were... almost part of my family. I had good moments with them and bad moments with them... They made me cry and made me happy...

Would it be ok if I haunted the books, I wonder. I mean, not that I don't like the idea of following Ingy around, but it sounds like a better idea. I'd miss my books if I went too far away from them - heck, I could feel a craving coming right about now.

I tried to control myself by running my hand through the cool material of the bench. It wasn't the same, but it was strange for me to notice that I could actually feel it. I could feel the surface, feel it was smooth and hard. I could smell the heavy disinfectant they used to clean it.

I don't know about you, but I always thought we had some sort of guidance after our death. I keep waiting for one of my old deceased family members to show up, or maybe the Grim Reaper, or an angel, whatever to show up, but there's nothing.

I felt pain, everything went black, I'm dead, and now I'm floating around aimlessly. Ha, the grand Maisie Pereira, forgotten in death as she was in life.

And this is me being dramatic, just so you know. I... I wasn't really forgotten. Jace has always gone out of his way to be nice to me, as have Dad and Mom. Joanne never liked the idea of having a sister – she was always, always competitive. But the others were pretty amazing.

And Ingreth was a fantastic best friend. Our families were both from South America originally– mine from Brazil and hers from Chile – and we quickly bonded due to that.

Actually, we bonded over the fact that a boy stole my box of crayons because I was a 'stupid Latina' and Ingreth showed him who was stupid.

After the teacher caught them, they were both put in time out and then she gave me my crayons back - but as far as I was concerned, Ingreth was my heroine. I cried for three hours straight until the teacher let her off time out - and gave both of us a cookie, mostly I think, in hopes of shutting me up. I gave mine to Ingreth because, well, she had saved me.

Ingreth gave me mine back and said eating alone is no fun. After that, we became best friends forever.

So it wasn't like I was deprived of affection.

But I guess some of the pressure I always felt came from my mother – what with her being a former model and all that. And then from my sister, following in her footsteps and always mocking me for not doing the same. For not being able to do the same.

Well... I kind of think I could. If I wanted to – but the thing is, I was never a fan of cameras. I liked sitting in the garden when it was sunny – or, more often than not, in my room tucked into my blankets or by the window seat – and read a good book... all the while eating something that surely would not be good for my health.

Jace always mocked me because of it – but he sneaked me those treats anyways.

Dad worked for a big firm, he was a lawyer and his name was always on the media – usually for winning big cases. And then, there was Jace – a hockey player so good people were talking he'd be a professional soon.

And then, there was me. I wasn't sporty, I didn't like attention and I wasn't good at anything... So I guess I always felt a bit left out. A bit like the black sheep.

So that was why I said I was forgotten, but... still... I'm glad, really glad this was me.

I don't think anyone is going to miss me much, besides, as I said, I didn't have a brilliant future ahead of me as they did.

So it was ok.

As I saw my parents walk out of the hospital room, I got to my feet and moved closer to Jace. I don't know why, because I couldn't do anything, but still...

I did it. Just in case.

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YOU DON'T NEED TO RE-READ THIS TO UNDERSTAND THE STORY. YOU CAN GO STRAIGHT TO THE POINT WHERE YOU STOPPED READING.

Hello everyone! Did you miss me? :evil grin:

Sorry about going MIA, but I suddenly decided I wanted to rewrite the whole story and... well... it took me a little while lol

It's finished now though, and thank every single one of you for your patience and support. I hope everyone is staying safe!

Also, thank you for the reviews, I took your words into account while I was revising this... and I'll keep doing so for revision n#3, whenever it happens, so please, keep leaving your comments. Even if I don't get back to you, I'll still read it and appreciate it... and I'll try to get back to you too. 

Originally published: November 8th, 2019

Revised: March 24th, 2020

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