by Robert Clay
This morning my wife killed me. I don't think she meant to do it, we were having yet another row about... well... I can't even remember, and in the heat of the moment she pushed, I fell, and zap. The strange thing is all this life after death stuff turns out to be true, here I am, in some non-corporeal form, moving about the house, unseen, but still inter-acting with my former world, I can even hear her crying in the bedroom. I'm supposed to move on, according to these strange little jeebie creatures that keep appearing and pointing upward (a good sign I hope), but I don't want to. I could stay here and haunt her, I could make her life a living hell in punishment for killing me, but I don't want to do that either because even though I'm dead, I can't live without her. I can't leave because I still love her.
Robert Clay, whose full catalog is here, is a Seafarer now stranded on land. He lives in Cornwall in the UK. (Click here to make a donation to Bob, half of which will support 6S.)