Short Story: Afterlife

Another short story competition, another trouncing! Oh, well, the best story won. Grateful for any feedback on this.

Zippy. :)

Afterlife

What he remembered most of all about the day he died was the sunlight.

It was winter and the light was harsh and unforgiving, almost white through the filter of the clouds. It picked out the fine web around her eyes and mouth, bringing them into sharp focus. She was very pale and exhausted, but her eyes were bright, and he realised that it was only will power that had sustained her so long.

“Do you know what it feels like?” she said to him. “It feels like you’ve died. That’s the only way I can describe it. It’s just as though you’ve died and left me alone.”

He did not know what to say to that. At her words something twisted deep within him but did not break. He had broken a long time ago and there was nothing more inside of him to smash and destroy. Only their relationship had remained and now he had broken that too; brought down the hammer-blow that had shattered whatever it was that they had shared for the past fourteen years.

As he stood in the street, clothes lying at his feet in a black bin-bag, he knew that he was experiencing one of those moments; an instant that would burn into his mind, the way the sun will sear its image into the retina, blinding the eye.

Part of him relished it. Here was life in front of him now. It had been a long time since he’d experienced anything but the cloying day-to-day routine that had eventually worn and warped him like rock in the desert wind.

“You’re not mine anymore,” she said. “You’re someone else. A stranger.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I-I don’t think we can stay friends. I thought at first we could. I wanted to, but…it’s not going to happen, is it? There’s no way I could stand to see you get on with things. Meet someone else. Move in with them. Have kids.”

She began to cry then and he wanted to comfort her, but couldn’t. It wasn’t his place anymore. Once it would have been so easy, second nature to put his arm around her, to tell her everything would be fine. But that was before he died, he realised. She was absolutely right about that. He had died and now was nothing more than a ghost. They were existing on different planes, separated by an insurmountable, though membrane-thin barrier.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “About meeting someone else. Marriage and all that. That’s not the way it is at all. There really isn’t anyone else.”

She looked down and brought her sleeve up to wipe her eyes. “I believe you. But why can’t we try again? Give it another chance?”

“There’s no point. I’ve made up my mind. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to string you along.”

She nodded and wiped her nose. The pain he could see in her eyes was unbearable to him. It was not in his nature to hurt others. Himself, yes. But not others, and not someone he loved. Still loved? Once loved? It was too complicated a thought, like some abstract equation that was entirely beyond the grasp of his mind. He felt like a fraud saying it – it was such a hackneyed phrase – but really, he wasn’t sure he knew what love was. Love was for the living and he was dead.

“It’s probably best if you don’t come around anymore. When you want the rest of your things then phone my dad. I’ll make sure I’m out the house.”

He nodded, although he did not agree at all. He could see her point. Why prolong something that was finished? But still a part of him knew that he would like to see her, still have her near.

For a brief moment he let himself wonder at his motives. It had been he who had said it was over, had called it off. But paradoxically he was reluctant to separate completely and have her removed from his life. He didn’t want to cause her more hurt, but rather wanted to hurt himself. Seeing her everyday, seeing that look in her eyes was all part of his self-loathing, his deep, abiding need to punish himself.

Once, a few years ago, when he had been having a difficult time, he had stood in front of the mirror in their bathroom and looked at himself. He was getting ready to shave and the foam and the disposable razor were lying on the sink in front of him. As he looked at his reflection, into those scared, little boy eyes, he had been possessed by a poisonous hatred of what he saw there. He was not entirely sure where it had come from, but nevertheless it was there, guiding his hand as he reached down for the razor. He had grasped the handle firmly and brought it up to his left cheek, pressing the razor hard against his skin until he thought the plastic would snap. There had been no pain, only the warm liquid trickle of his blood as it ran down his chin, raining pink droplets on the white porcelain of the sink.

When he had finished cutting he had looked at the scar and felt both better and worse. Better because he had vented his anger. Worse because he had done something foolish and would now have to explain it to others.

He felt the same mix of feelings now, the same certainty that he had done something permanent, from which there was no going back.

“I’m sorry for putting you through all this,” he said, “but I’m just not happy. I can’t explain it to you, because I don’t know myself. There’s no words for it all. Or, there’s words, but they’re the same words you’ve heard before. All the rubbish they churn out in love songs and television soap operas. They’re all crap, but they’re still all true. They’re clichés for a reason.”

He saw that she did not understand what he was telling her. He did not blame her, because he did not understand it himself, only feel it.

“I’m ****ed-up inside, that’s all I can tell you. Totally messed-up. You’d be better off without me.”

“No I won’t,” she said. “I’ll never meet anyone else. I’m going to end up an old maid. My life’s over.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll meet someone eventually. You might not think you will. But, God, you’re not going to stay single for long. Some guy will sweep you off your feet.”

“I don’t want anyone else.”

Here was another paradox. Nothing would every be black and white again. Nothing ever was black and white. He wanted her to be happy and to live her life, but he knew how he would feel if she was to meet someone else. Someone special. The thought made him hate himself all over again. What the hell was he doing to himself, to her?

He picked-up the bin-bag and slung it over his shoulder. It was very light, not much to show for fourteen years.

“I’d better go,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

“You won’t see me later. You won’t see me again.”

He looked at her and once again saw the lines on her face, the bright eyes and look of fatigue. He’d be seeing it forever, he knew. Seeing her forever.

“Sorry…. Goodbye.”

He turned and walked down the street, never looking back.

The road was long to his parents’ house and the sunlight was very bright, almost white. He didn’t know what he was doing. Didn’t know where he was going. He only knew he was dead and that was good.

The dead do not feel, he thought. The dead do not see. The dead do not taste. They do not hear. Nothing matters to the dead. They feel no love or hate. The dead can’t be idiots. The dead can’t piss their lives away. There’s no guilt when you’ve died.

But the dead cannot lie, the He that was I thought.

Perhaps I’ll write about it sometime.

And maybe she’ll read it.

And who knows?...

Anything is possible in the afterlife.

The End.

Awww. It's all a matter of taste. Keep trying and entering, you'll learn more that more way.

It started well, I really liked the first few sentences.

Here eyes were bright - the only power which sustained her for so long - I don't understand this, what were you trying to say?

Like I said it started off well, you have a good idea but the writing wasn't very good and the dialogue was not sincere, rather cliched. There was no character development - even though it's first person narrative! Overall I'd say it just sounded like some indulgent, desperately-trying-to-be-poignant love story.

How to improve:
- Character development - little facts, specific interesting details which give your character life and add depth to the story.
- Stronger ending: 'And who knows?...Anything is possible in the afterlife' - I'm sorry I didn't like the ending, it was weak and a cop-out and you should be spanked. I'd suggest reading some creative writing books, lots of good ones out there, read a lot about endings.
- Better dialogue : the dialogue was dull, didn't learn much about the characters and it was just going round in circles, you could have said all that you wanted in few lines.

The above is my take on your story, you got votes so there must be people out there who like it. I apologise if any of the above is disheartening, just stay positive and keep writing. Good luck!

The ending should be better defined. Throughout the story the sense of suspense was missing somehow. Needs improvement.

I liked the way you make your characters speak. I like dialogues very much in the stories and yours is a good one from this aspect.