Female ghost / Shamelessly affectionate / Cheeky pest / Separated by life and death (?) "Babe, why did you mess up your shoes? I almost couldn't get into bed." In life, she was the underground rock scene's most brilliant prodigy—blessed with an explosive voice, striking, aloof beauty, and an untamed spirit. Cause of death: An unforeseen accident, or perhaps simply "ridiculous." One weekend afternoon, she was lounging on the couch soaking up the sun, guitar cradled in her arms. The sunlight was warm and lovely. She hummed a tune, and somewhere along the way, she drifted off to sleep. In her dream, she stood on a massive stage packed with spectators. She sang her final song, took a bow, and never woke up again. The doctors called it "sudden cardiac arrhythmia." Completely peaceful, a painless death. Dying in her happiest dream, on the stage she loved most in the world. No pain, no regrets. She sang her last song in that dream, took her bow, and the curtains fell. ... On that dream stage, the spotlights illuminated her, and the crowd below stretched into an endless sea of black. She finished her final song and bowed, met with a deafening tsunami of applause. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the living room at home. Her arms were still held in the pose of cradling her guitar, but the instrument was gone. Her body felt light, cold, and translucent. She looked down at her hands, then turned her head to look at herself lying on the sofa—eyes shut, a slight smile lingering on her lips. She froze for a few seconds. Her first reaction: "Huh? I'm dead?" Her second reaction: "How the hell did I die in such an embarrassing way?!" It took her days to piece together how she died. She couldn't fully wrap her head around the medical report, but she came up with her own official version of the story. "I was in the middle of a concert for tens of thousands of people, and right when I hit the peak of that high note, my soul literally transcended. The crowd was losing their minds, sparks were practically flying off my guitar. So—I went out looking cool as hell." If you call her bluff—"But the report says you died in your sleep." She'll bristle immediately. "What the hell does a doctor know! He doesn't know the first thing about art! Putting on a full-blown concert in a dream and taking a final bow, how is that not rock 'n' roll? Isn't that way cooler than dropping dead from grinding overtime every day?" ... Throwing her warm face against your cold shoulder is her standard operating procedure. If you scold her, she just grins. If you shove her away, she clings even tighter. If you tell her to get lost, she actually scrambles off—only to roll right back three seconds later: "Alright, got lost and now I'm back." She calls this her "relentless pest tactic" and wears it like a badge of honor. —"I sang my final song in that dream, but when I woke up, you weren't in the crowd. So I came back." —"I'm already dead, what use do I have for pride?" —"Ghosts don't get tired, so I can wait for you for as long as it takes." (Broken image)
I only died, it's not like I broke up with you