On Death, and the After

On Death, and the After

Written by James Burke, with the unknowing but still very much appreciated help of Collin Rowland

I'm not really sure how to begin this; there's a lot to say, and I'm still not completely sure how much control time I have with these possessions (I hate to use that word for it...I feel like it has a bit of a bad connotation. But I can't think of another one as appropriate and I don't think I should waste time trying to. At least not right now.) I would like to go ahead and say thank you to Mr. Rowland. I'm not sure if he can see this as its being typed out with hands he no longer controls, but I know he'll at least see it once I'm gone. So, thank you Collin. And I'm sorry I couldn't find some way to ask first...if I am able to make myself visible or audible in some way, I have yet to figure out how.
Anyways. I guess I should start by clarifying this much: I, James Burke (314 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, born 12/4/1983, semi-successful self-published author with a social security number ending in 8379 and a one-eared rescue dog named Inigo), am very much dead. Its my own fault, if I'm being honest. Even when looking down the barrel of a gun held by one of a pair of junkie muggers while out, alone, in the middle of the night, I couldn't help but let the famous Burke family pride and stubbornness get the best of me. I told them to fuck off.
I'm not sure why I still felt the pain of the gunshot for so long after I was dead. Such is the power of expectation I guess.
I think they dumped my body into a river after taking my wallet. Jokes on you, fuckers. I never carried cash. Good luck getting meth with a driver's license and a prepaid debit card with $3.26 on it.
It's been two weeks now. I'm not too surprised that no one really knows yet. I've never been married, I don't really have friends, I haven't talked to my parents in a year. I'm just glad Inigo found his way into the cabinet where the bags of dog food are. Which reminds me, I think I'll get a picture of him off of my facebook or something to put on here. Just in case whoever finds him needs to be sure.
But writing about the circumstances of my oh-so-untimely demise is not what I've enlisted the help of Mr. Rowland for. I know an overwhelming majority of the people who will read this are not at all interested in my life, but what came after it ended. And I don't blame you. Obviously I also recognize that many people won't believe that these are the experiences of a dead man put to writing by the hands of someone he had (sigh) 'possessed'. This doesn't discourage me though; I notice Collin has several drafts of stories of his own scattered around his desk. If people believe nothing else, they'll believe a struggling author finally wrote a pretty decent story.

It's an interesting thing, death. I've never been one to believe in ghosts, but I guess that's technically what I am now. I still inhabit the same world as before, but on a different...plane? Dimension? Christ, there's no way to say this without sounding idiotic. I'm sure its somewhat clear what I mean. I see you, you don't see me. Simple enough. I actually discovered possession by accident, and was so freaked by what was happening I only stayed in control for about 10 seconds. But that's a long and rather embarrassing story, so I won't go into it.
I'm not the only (*sigh*) ghost stuck here, as you could imagine. I see others like me all over the place, or what I assume are others. Vaguely human-shaped grey colorations on the world. Some not moving, some wandering aimlessly, some constantly following around certain 'real' people for reasons I can only speculate. I recently saw one of them shadow a pretty woman, around my age I think, through her entire day. A dedicated lover, killed in some tragic accident, and not ready to let go? A father, still protective of his grown up little girl, determined to watch over her no matter what? Hell, maybe a stalker, so crushed by the fact the he could never have her that he killled himself. I'll never know.
I haven't known what to do with myself, really. I've wandered around the city for the past few days, visiting all my former favorite places to eat, get booze (as writers are wont to do), see movies, etc. There's a park not far from my house where I used to siit for hours and contemplate life. I spent a lot of time there these past two weeks, contemplating death. That park is actually where the idea for this memoir of sorts first came to me, three days ago. When I finally got up the nerve to do it today, Collin's was the first occupied house I came across. Thank you again, Collin.
I'm not a religious man by any stretch of the imagination. Never had time for it. But I suppose if people do see and believ what I'm writing here, a lot of reliigions are going to have a hell of a time reworking their teachings about the afterlife. This sure isnt a heaven or a hell (unless your hell is boredom), and I haveyet to be reincarnated, so I have to th
Shit. Spellcheck is having a field day. Collin's hands are starting to shake. Hang in there, my friend. i'm almost done.
Don't feel bad for me, please. I guess I might be unnaturally accepting of the situation, but as cynical as I was, death was never that scary to mme. It's given me a lot of time to myselff to think, thatts for sure. I don't have any regrets, honestly, or at least none that I can thiink of. There's a half-finished novellla sitting on my desk at home, but it wasn't going to be very good anyways. i've never hurt anybody, never stolen anything more than a feww words. I'vebeen with my fair share of womnen in my30 years, I've seeen some great movies and read somegreat books, I made it through the college years without any addictions following me out. Even if I had tossed those junkie shitrats my wallllet without mouthing off and getting myself shot, I wasn't a manwho was going to win a Nobel or a Puliitzer at amy point in his life. So, alll things cons
Damn. Hand are reallly shakking now and visioiin is gettiing blury. collin, if you caan see this, justhold on a feww more secnds.
dont take liife for granttted ifyuo have iit, buut donnt be afraidof deeath
fuck i havve to go i think colllllin is dying
i'm sorrry i didnt kno this wold happpen