This chapter is an entry for Contest 1 by thevividimaginator

If only I brought a tape recorder with me now, I would've recorded this and chuck it back to the hospital, hoping that they'll publish it to the world so they'll have a clearer glimpse of what death is.

Because, among all of the deaths the movies and books depicted, none of them are like this one.

Ugh, thanks for getting my expectations too high, people. Can't I please sue y'all?

When I woke up this morning, I felt weightless and penetrable. The tormenting pains were gone too.

I looked down to notice that I've left my human body, becoming entirely shapeless, transparent.

Down there on the living world, the medics rushed with their equipments, trying to resurrect me. The red siren above my bed blared in sync with their actions.

But I don't even budge. None of their techniques are able to thwart my death.

"She's gone, doctor." A young woman stated as she eyed my tragic, bandaged figure sadly.

The one she addressed nods gloomily.

Why are these people feeling that grievous for me, who's nobody but a dying stranger for them?

Suddenly, the door swung open brutely, revealing a bulky man with a navy uniform, one that I assumed is a police's.

"You can't tell me she's gone!" He exclaimed in rage after speaking lowly with the medics. "She's still needed!"

Huh? Need me? As far as I remember my past, big guy, I've never known you.

"Um, excuse me." A timid voice called out, and I curiously searched for the speaker below.

Why, none of them are saying that! So, who did?

"Over here, miss."

I fearfully glanced behind my back, hoping to find a Casper-like soul there, but met an empty air instead.

See, I told you this world sucks! I even expected to meet a fellow, cartoonized ghost here!

"A-are you... a ghost too?" I inquired, dreading for the next answer.

"Temporary ghosts, miss." The child's voice answered, and clouds of fears engulfed my head.

If I still can call it a head.

"What do you want?" I shrunk myself in fear.

"Justice. We all need it, don't we?" He giggled, successfully convincing me that he's harmless. "That's why we haven't continued to the afterlife yet."

It's as if someone poured an ice bucket onto me. "There's an afterlife?" I squeaked, averting all my attentions to the invisible kid.

Now I regretted to spent all my life abandoning my parents' trust in God. What'll He sentence me with if I meet Him?

"What should I do now? Any tutorials on how to finish this?"

"You needed justice for your death, and so do we. While we're still struggling to deal with ours, you should start working on yours too."

I suddenly felt an urge to return to my old life, where lack of food is the only complication in it.

"So, we need to solve our urgent problems first, then we can calmly proceed to the afterlife?" I cut in impatiently. The sooner I can end this, the sooner I'll have peace.

"That is, if you succeed. But until then, miss, you'll stay as a ghost. Until justice's served, and your soul accepted the truth." The voice wavered reluctantly.

*****

People consider death's terrifying, but now, I consider it annoying.

As I tailed Mr.Cop the entire day, I recollected the past events which nearly killed me.

I was a bummer, so I hang around the landfill.

Suspicious, formal-looking strangers were wandering around lately. They looked like those secret agents in the movies.

They've never noticed me, until one curious day, I dared to ask one of them. He replied me with nothing but a harsh spat.

Of course-who would even bother to answer a nosy, dirty girl?

Since then, those men treated me horribly. Some kicked, spatted, hit, harassed, and even threatened. That went on for days.

As each day passed, I grew more curious of their activity. An abandoned warehouse nearby was where they operated. God knows what they kept inside.

One thoughtless day, I crawled to the building's side, deciding to peek through. During my childhood, I was obsessed with detectives. I thought it was the start of my personal fulfillment.

Sweeping the thick dust of the window, I inspected the dark place, where light only came from a gap on the roof. A large amount of crates were stacked inside, along with marked sacks.

I was about to read the marks when a figure passed by my back, shrieking a hundred decibels loud. Then it all happened rapidly. Punches on my faces. Stinky shoes for my body. Gunshots on my legs. Knives for the others. And curses for me, the shoddy scavenger.

Once they were done, they buried me under the muffling trashes. Used my own hand against me, so it would've looked like a suicide. Hilt on my other hand, they forcefully slashed it against my other wrist, slightly missing my arteries.

*****

"Papa, read a bedtime story?" The cop's son pleaded. Chuckling, the cop accompanied him to his room. I was curious, but I realized it isn't that good to interfere his privacy, so I decided to hover on the door.

The last ounce of my breath proved that curiosity isn't my friend.

They sat atop the son's car-shaped bed. "What do you want to read today?" He asked softly. Apparently, despite his rogue demeanor, this cop is a giant softie.

"How about.. Oh!" The boy gasped, eyes widening alarmingly. Startled, I realized the stare he's directing at me.

"What's up, son?" The cop furrowed his brows closely in confusion.

"Dad, there's a ghost! I can see it!" He exclaimed, jumping on his bed enthusiastically and pointed at me.

"No, there aren't any ghosts here, Martin. You're being delusional."

"But I swore, dad!" Martin added persistently, folding his arms grumpily.

I hesitantly approached the kid, whose eyes were glimmering in awe. So, he thinks being a ghost is cool? Being stuck between two worlds is cool?

"I need to tell your father a truth." I whispered to the child's ear, hoping he won't flinch away from me. Surprisingly, he didn't. What a courageous boy.

He looks thoughtful for some while, narrowing his eyes at his dad. "Dad, she wanted to tell you something."

"Nah, tell her to fly away, so we can start the bedtime..."

"I'll haunt him for the rest of his life! Tell him!" I hissed.

"Whoop-that's a great idea, ghost girl! We can be playmates!" Martin replied to me instead, with a grin plastered on his cheeky face. Great, really great.

How to exactly convince this man that we need each other mutually? Or should've I asked someone else instead?

"Martin. Tell him I'm Esmeralda."

"Dad, she's Esmeralda." He stared at his dad solemnly, while the dad's casting him an odd look. "By the way, it's nice to meet you, Esmeralda."

"Esmeralda?" The name rolls out of his tongue, and realization poured into him. He broke into a sprint, and like a rider to her horse, I exclaimed to the boy, asking him to track down his dad so we can continue this translation business.

We found him in a stuffy, dim room, where he's skimming a folder seriously. The two of us waited in bated breath.

"Ah, here it is." He revealed a paper, and read aloud, "Esmeralda Bonita, aged between 20-23."

"Martin, tell your father I know who killed me. Oh, and Martin, tell him to let me finish my story first."

So I spilled everything. Actually I felt sorry for the boy, who has to listen all those in such a young, innocent age, but I really have to. Or I'll haunt people until the apocalypse comes, waiting my name to be adapted into a movie.

Right after Martin finished translating everything I've known to him, the cop stood up, rummaged the unorganized folder once more.

He fished out some photos and handed it to Martin, who kindly shared the view. "Regarding your descriptions, Esmeralda, I think it's them."

I traced the crumpled photograph, eyeing the familiar bastards and the mysterious logo I hadn't a chance to look at. Grudge welled up in me at once. "Martin, say yes for me."

"I knew it." He grabbed his coat and his cap, later on equipping himself with a pack of magazines. "Well, I'll be going, son. Tell your sick mom I'll be right home, soon."

"But.."

"Don't worry,"

"Hey, dad. Look at the window! We have visitors!" Martin exclaimed, horrified.

The cop hastily staggered to the window, while the two of us were straining our necks for a better sight. There, on the front porch, are three big cars. I remembered whose cars are those.

Armed men soon rained down the pavements, storming to the house.

Panicked, I prayed that this house is equipped with a defense ability. I can't lose them, they're the only people who can help me! Who'll help us if all of us become ghosts?

Words : 1500

Thanks for reading or voting this! And also thanks to @aaliyahchan (for tagging me of the contest XD). And sweetlover48 ... Hope you like this! :)