I Was 19 When I Died

I was 19 years old when I died. In a classic car crash. In a small town just outside of Atlanta, Georgia. It was small enough that everyone knew each other, but big enough to entertain a teenager. Like I used to be. My name was Susana Beckman. I had dark hair with the tips dyed black. It was almost always pulled back, with my bangs hanging in my face. I never prided myself with make-up or fancy jewelry, I thought I looked pretty enough without it. Or so I was always told. I remember when people would tell me I was model material, and they wouldn't believe me when I said I never wore cosmetics. I had naturally rosy cheeks, and long dark eye lashes. My lips were full and my eyebrows have been arched since the day I was born. Those weren't what people were fixated on though. It was my eyes. People told me they were dazzling, radiant, magnificent, and on one occasion star like. That's not the reason for my story though. I was hit by a drunk driver, and pinned in the burning car. I remember being alive in it. It was horrible. The smoke slowly filled the car, I think my leg was even broken. I started to get frantic. The steering wheel pressed me against the seat and the car door was keeping my left arm at my side. Broken glass covered my shirt, and I could feel the sweat start to cover my face. What made it all worse was that I could here the sirens getting closer and closer. I thought the door would swing open any minute and someone would save me. Sadly, that's not what happened. The car exploded in a firry heap before anyone even had a chance to rescue me. That's when my point of view changed . Right as the gas ignited I felt a surging pain, then nothing. I was watching the car burn from somewhere in the woods next to the interstate. I started running toward the guy in the other car to let him know I was ok. I yelled at him, pushed him, jumped right I front of his face, but he still didn't even notice me. Not one muscle on his face moved. He just stared at my car in pure shock. It took me a minute or two but I just turned around and watched my 3 year old birthday present burn with him. Inside I could see something that sort of resembled a body. It looked so misshapen and deformed, I didn't think anyone was in the car with my at all. Then my suspicion was confirmed. I was dead. That was my body, getting scorched in a blazing inferno. I didn't feel sadness though. I didn't feel anything. When the first fire truck arrived they pried open the door and drug my lifeless warped body out of the vehicle. The sight was ungodly. It was obvious to them that I was not going to be salvaged. They immediately started putting out the fire. I didn't was to stay there and watch, I didn't want to be reminded that I was dead yet. I started to think of my mother. She was at home today. It was her day off, and she was probably on the couch seeing or something. Then in the instant I blinked, I was at my house. Watching her from the kitchen. She was doing exactly as i thought, sewing. Could she see me? I bolted to her and hugged her. All she did was look up from her work with a questioning look. I guess she dismissed the feeling, because she went straight back to her work. I was a little heart broken, I will say that. My mother couldn't see me either. That meant no one would. No one I knew anyway. I sat beside her for a while, just watching her work. Then the telephone rang. I wanted to remember my mother at ease and calm. So I left. I didn't know where to go. I just went, up. Into the night sky. It was a little cloudy but I wasn't going that high. I still didn't feel any emotion tied to what just happened. I wasn't cold, I wasn't hot, I wasn't hungry, I wasn't tired, I wasn't anything. Looking up at the moon, then looking down upon the city I used to live in, I felt kind of happy. Not that I was dead, but that I was free. I could go anywhere I wanted in a flash, just by thinking about it. I wasn't physically restricted. I could see anything I wanted. I just felt free. To be continued...