Spectre

A lone spectre drifts through fading memories, lost between life and something beyond.

I overdosed.
My body was soaring on a euphoric high, engulfed in a heavenly sensation. All my grief, pain, and sadness had been purged from my being, leaving behind only a blissful serenity.

With each step came a newfound lightness, as if shedding burdens that had once weighed me down. Unshackled from the judgments and expectations of others, I moved with a sense of invincibility, unnoticed by the world around me. As I sauntered through the back patio door, a wave of unfamiliarity washed over me. Once cosy and familiar, the living space now appeared distorted. The beloved four-seater was replaced by a cramped leather sofa drowning in a sea of neglected laundry. Family photos adorned the fireplace mantle--one of familiarity. One of me, much younger, with a self-cut fringe and missing front teeth. Each photo captured a moment frozen in time, yet the tenderness they once held seemed distant.

Entering my room, my eyes met a grotesque perversion of what I'd known since infancy. Gone were the fairy lights, the pale pink walls, the worn quilt with floral stitching. Now: cold white walls, a neatly made guest bed. A chill tickled my spine. I called out. Silence answered. I searched every room, from the attic to the pantry. No laughter. No footsteps. No lingering scent of Dad's cologne or the clink of Mum's teacups. My parents were mysteriously absent within their own home. Still, I reasoned--brunch, perhaps. A charity event. A wedding, even. Anything mundane, anything living. The sun still burned, and I decided to seek out my parents, reassuring myself they had simply skipped their usual family brunch in favour of some undisclosed social event.

I strode along the long and winding roads. Shopkeepers rearranged displays. Dogs barked in the distance. But nobody met my eyes. Nobody greeted me.

The town park lay ahead, skeletal trees casting long shadows over the snow-covered earth. My heart lifted at the sight of my mother's favourite café tucked in its corner. I imagined her there, cup in hand, head thrown back in laughter. Instead, I heard bells. The church bells' solemn melody echoed through the air, and amidst the tranquil surroundings, I caught a faint whisper of movement, drawing my curiosity.

Their toll rolled through the crisp air, solemn and slow. A procession moved beneath the bare branches--people draped in black. I drifted closer, and my breath caught.

There they were. My family. My friends. Faces pale and tear-streaked. Distant cousins, childhood friends, even old teachers. They emanated an aura of warmth that saturated the atmosphere. Yet, amidst this radiant symphony, I stood as a lone observer. My voice was swallowed by the cacophonous ambiance as I called out. My mother's eyes were distant, sunken, her skin sallow. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks. Her hand clutched a damp handkerchief. Her lips moved, forming prayers or pleas.

Venturing behind the somber group, I reached for my father's shoulder, seeking solace in his embrace, but my hand found only an eerie hollowness as he eluded my grasp. Reality blurred, and I questioned if I was ensnared in a never-ending dream, a dark premonition unfolding. The snowfall failed to kiss me with its chill, my breath didn't blow smoke, and my chest remained still.

The procession moved, revealing an emerald stone emerging from the earth, bearing an uncanny name--one I knew all too well: my own. This peculiar dream was now unfolding into a grim nightmare. Orange tulips--my favourite--were tucked beside delicate porcelain doves. I pleaded desperately with my mind to release me from this horror, but my cries echoed in vain, imprisoning me in a reality that defied reason.

Everything and everyone persisted, while I remained a lost spectre on the other side of life.

Hi! Thought I'd put a note on this story unlike my others. I wrote this originally when I was sixteen for a short story competition, it's since been edited.