Where does one begin in explaining the supernatural business of the dead? Should we mention the Saturday tea parties? The saltine-stealing bandits? Or the very beginning, when the first ghost became real?
Let's start on October 2nd, twenty-first-or-something-century. The night was long, but the road was longer. Hours upon hours of driving, and the destination to Phoenix, Arizona remained no closer than Simba was to saving Mufasa. (Expect a lot of Disney references because that's what happens when you live in California, right next to the land of magic itself.) Was Benjamin regretting every minute of this trip? Absolutely. Was Charlene Turner, the one human on the planet to put up with Augensteine's unfavorable nature, noticing this? Inevitably. But did they stop? No.
But, faster than Li Shang trained his army, (One song. A whole three minutes and twenty-three seconds. That's swifter than cooking two dozen pizza rolls), the trip barreled south.
The truck seemed to come out from thin air. The headlights burned into Benjamin's eyes like two giant balls of gas, and Charlene couldn't spare enough time to dodge the semi, only achieving a small swerve and screech.
The next sequence followed: Turn, flip, and crunch.
The aftermath was not found until another car, minutes later, happened to pass by. Emergency services were called.
There were two injured. There was one dead.
When Charlene opened her eyes, blood streaming down her face, her gaze spinning like a broken compass, she noticed two things:
A busted windshield, and an unmoving body slumped against the dashboard.
The car was tipped. Charlene was trapped until the services came, gallantly freeing her and Benjamin- The semi-driver too, being escorted to a hospital.
It would have been easier to say that Charlene moved on after her friend died so abruptly, becoming a successful professor at a university, just as she wanted. It would have been easier to say Benjamin's presence was never forgotten, and that the memory of him would remain as were.
But it's never that easy, is it?
One thing was for certain, however: Benjamin was dead, and it was Charlene's fault. If she were paying attention, and not looking at Benjamin, the circumstances would be different. Benjamin wouldn't be dead. No one would be hurt.
As Charlene laid on the stretcher, staring at the IV by her head, she wondered: Was it painful?
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It was, in fact, painful.
Benjamin didn't particularly think he was dead. Because how could being dead hurt so much? But yet, when his eyes pried open in seconds later, and confused, awfully tall clerk stood behind a desk, searching through files, and said, "You're not supposed to be dead, yet."
They wore a flourished coat, like an English gentleman plucked straight out of the 1700s. Their hair, being a platinum blond and tied into a tight ponytail, floated like they were underwater. It was like gravity was simply nonexistent.
"Oh. I'm not?" Benjamin asked, trying to remember why he'd be labeled as dead, why he was in so much pain.. Ah, the car accident.
Benjamin glanced around for his friend, Charlene. She wasn't there, sitting next to him, in front of the desk where this newly found stranger pulled out files upon files, muttering dates and times, people and places.
Benjamin remembered the semi-truck, and wondered if they were okay. He hoped both Charlene and the driver were.
"No," responded the stranger, a tad of irritation driving their voice, "You're not. There's supposed to be a new floater coming in about three minutes from now.. You're not Casey Himmings, are you?"
"I'm Benjamin Augensteine." Now glancing around, Benjamin noticed the chair he was sitting on, the desk, and the hundreds of filing cabinets were just floating on endless void. The lighting was perfectly normal but there was no source of it in sight. Just pitch black nothingness. But the stranger walked on it like Elsa crossing the lake. (Sorry. I can't help myself.) "What do you mean by 'new floater'?"
"This isn't apart of the Manuel," The 1700s Englishman muttered, now pulling out a thick binder from the desk. "Okay, uh, I'll just put you as neutral, alright? Now shoo, there's a newcomer in about a minute and forty-eight seconds. Get! Have a happy afterlife!"
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What an awful dream. Benjamin thought sourly, his brain muddled from the mishap.717Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9rnjOep65u
"You ain't dreaming, boy. Get up."
Benjamin groaned and clenched his eyes tighter. He wasn't in pain, but crucially numb.
"Kid, up. Before they decide ya kicked the bucket."
Maybe just a little longer..
Benjamin felt pressure across his face. Later, he'd fine out that he was slapped across the face, repeatedly, until he finally decided to open his eyes.
Instead of an irritated Englishman, a strong, scruffy bearded man crouched down next to Benjamin, too close to be considered comfortable.
"Oh, hallo." His voice was layered in a southern accent, and he had a beatroot red face, with puffed out cheeks. Benjamin climbed onto his knees, relieved to know he was no longer seeing the void, but rather confused to why this situation came about.
And to add- Charlene was no where in sight, and neither was the car.
Benjamin glanced back at the man. A shiny cruiser was propped next to him, resembling that this man could be a biker.
"Geez, you must be a new floater. What are you? Haunter? Giver?" Whatever this biker was listing, Benjamin couldn't tie them together. So, Benjamin tried to think of questions that would get him answers.
"Where's my friend? She was here with me. Now she's gone.. is she okay?"
"You mean that girl in the car? She was here earlier.. After they yanked you two out of your vehicle there, well, they shipped you both off."
"That doesn't make sense. How am I here, when I should be at a hospital?"
The man gave a long, tired sigh, now leaning against his cruiser. "Kid, I hate to break it to you.. And I know it's gonna come to a shock and everything but.. You're dead."
"That's not possible. I'm here. And I feel fine!" Benjamin pattered his plaid-matted vest, showing that yes, he was still very much alive, and still very much there.
The biker couldn't have looked more pitying. "You feel fine because you don't feel anything at all."
"Okay, okay. Either.. I'm still asleep.. or this is some sick joke.. or.. or.."
"Or I'm telling ya the truth?" The man rose a hairy eyebrow.
"No! You're not! You can't prove it. I'm not some ghost, those don't exist. I don't believe it!" Benjamin was now pacing up and down the curb of the empty street, shaking his hands in exasperation.
"If you want proof, here," he brushed away some of his brownish curly hair from his face, showing a rather appalling bullet hole centered in the middle of his forehead.
"I'm dreaming." Benjamin announced, and knocked on his own head, trying to wake himself up. "I'm in the hospital right now, in surgery, and I'm dreaming."
The man continued, "Only a spirit can see other spirits. Oh, well, and mediums.. and some cats. But don't even get me started on cats. They're a whole other phenomenon," He held out a hand as Benjamin came forward, nervously, hesitantly. "Rufus Saylor."
Benjamin sucked in a breath as this would be his last. He found no trouble holding it as he shook Rufus's hand, replying, "Benjamin Augensteine.." He still didn't believe a word this man said. He didn't believe he was dead. What would his parents say? What would Charlene do?
"Well, kid, how 'bout we take a bit of a walk together?"
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