I placed my hand against the window, half expecting it to fall through. You know, the way ghosts do in movies? I guess the movies weren’t all that true though, because to me the window seemed solid. I couldn’t feel the heat of the sun on the glass, but I could feel the way it stopped my hand. Slowly, she brought her hand up as well, placing it on the opposite side of mine before suddenly withdrawing it as if I had shot pain through her.
“Dear God,” she muttered beneath her breath. I couldn’t hear it, but I could read it on her lips. She rolled down her window, her green eyes wide with confusion. “Who are you?”
“I don’t know,” I opened my mouth to say. The words didn’t come out though. I guess not all ghosts can talk, either. I simply shrugged. Who was I? Before the wreck, I knew everything about myself. Now it seemed like I knew nothing. Nothing aside from the fact that I was dead.
Copyright © 2011 E. M. Jenkinson, all rights reserved.