Happy deathday to me

Life is not easy on the other side. I should not even call it life, but death— because that's what I am, a dead person— but this thing of the non-living entity is relatively recent, and I haven't gone through the whole set of rules. There was a lot of bureaucracy when I walked the Earth, but now that my feet don't touch the ground, I cannot say things are much better. Maybe it's a question of time— apparently, I am expected to spend a minimum of a hundred years in "the parallel"— and perhaps I will make friends soon, but so far, if I had to review this place, it would be with two stars and something like "Too noisy, not funny, boring and whiny colleagues. Don't recommend."

This new way of life—I mean, death—started with my Halloween/ birthday party preparations last year. Yes, I was born on a Halloween day, which was always nice when I was a kid because the parties and candy were a sure thing. Once I became an adult, for some reason, people tended to forget about my "thing" and focus more on the parties, so I soon learned that if I wanted to make them remember, I had to give them candy... that's why I was organizing the party in the apartment I was sharing with two friends of mine. It was our first month living together and the perfect opportunity for a housewarming/ birthday celebration/ Halloween/ meet up with friends. We had met in university and had studied business administration: we were efficient and almost broke, so four parties in one was the best idea we had to minimize costs and maximize the number of people bringing their own liquor (because, again, our finances were in great distress.)

I invited five friends, who were supposed to bring their loved ones, and my flatmates did the same, so we were expecting thirty people to fill up the downstairs area of our place. To avoid the visitors' temptation to visit our bedrooms, we filled the stairs with candles, pumpkins, and a couple of skeletons. We prepared two massive bowls of sangria, one for the kitchen and another for the living room, and moved all the furniture against the walls so people could move without trouble.

An hour before the party started, I wore my witch dress, hat, and the most badass high-heeled shoes an evil sorcerer could imagine. I put on my long satin gloves and a pair of glasses I had found somewhere in my wardrobe, making me see everything blurry but fabulous with the whole outfit. Shortly after, people started to arrive.

Two hours into the party, we were already running out of alcohol. Our estimation of thirty people failed tremendously because some of our friends invited others. When I tried to understand why there was nothing else to drink, I counted seventy-five guests and a dog (which behaved much better than any of the two-legged individuals in that party). Luckily, we lived very close to a street packed with bars, so people started to go down, purchase something at the closest bar, and return to our place. A few extra people joined the party, believing it was a pop-up bar. I stopped counting them when we reached the hundred, which was too much for our apartment. The floors were both sticky and slippery, the windows were fully open, and still, there was a cloud of sweet smoke above our heads. The music was beyond the recommendation from the neighbors, who were nice enough to visit us and let us know several times during the night. Everything was too much, but "Hey, it's a party!".

Around eleven, I elbowed my way into the kitchen. I opened the fridge, looking for a small red velvet cupcake I had bought, a little celebration in the middle of that massive reunion, but the cake was not there. In fact, there was nothing but a couple of sad carrots. All the drinks were gone. Even the ketchup and mustard bottles had disappeared, which made me curious. Still, I had another priority: where was my birthday cake? I looked around and saw too many people I did not know at all, and then, in the corner, I saw a guy feeding my cupcake to the dog, little by little. It took me five minutes to move from the fridge to the window because there was no space to drag my feet. By the time I reached the guy, the only thing he had in his hand was the little golden wrapper and the candle I had put on top of the frosting hours before. The dog seemed happy, and I felt horrible because I really needed something sweet.

"You can sit by my side and sip my whisky," he said.

'I don't like whisky!" I replied. I was cranky: my feet hurt, my stomach growled because I had not eaten for hours, I was dizzy because I had drank too much, and possibly I was stoned too because, despite the fact I had not held anything, the smoke cloud had wrapped us for a long time.

"But I will sit because my feet are destroyed," I said. I tried to climb to the open window, but one of my heels got stuck in someone else's dress, my silky glove slipped into the window sill, and instead of sitting gracefully, I fell... to the other side. That's all I can remember about that place that night.

When I woke up, everything was foggy and noisy around me. I could not recognize any face, but I could see many people moving up and down and from one side to another, which seemed weird because I could still be stoned, but I knew people did not fly. I look around. There were signals indicating four rows:

1. Newcomers.
2. Questions about current assignments.
3. Claims about mortal affairs.
4. Any other topic.

I guessed I was a newcomer and joined the first line, but when I stood up, I realized my feet no longer hurt. In fact, I moved slowly and gracefully as if I was... oh my! I was floating! I tried to jump, but the most I managed was to make some weird noises, and the guy by my side, in row two (the one about questions and assignments), told me to stop being so excited.

"You'll have time to practice; no need to annoy the rest of us."

I giggled. I giggled like a little kid with a sugar rush. I thought I was drunk, high, and probably dreaming, passed out on the sofa since no one could cross the candles and artifacts on the stairs.

I looked at the guy in front of me, all bloody and deformed, and the best I could say was:

"Good party, eh?"

But he did not seem amused by my bubbly personality. He replied:

"I lost control of the chainsaw while carving the pumpkins."

I nodded at him and raised my thumb as if he was waiting for my approval or anything. He was gentle, though, and turned as someone called his name.

Everything seemed just too weird. Old and young people were around, but everyone's skin seemed grey and somehow transparent. I was looking at an old lady carrying something that seemed like a weird chihuahua when someone called my name, and I floated to a high desk. I could not say if that was a man, a woman, or an oak tree, but the voice continued.

"Welcome to the parallel. You are dead. We hope the next hundred years go by easily. Enjoy your stay, and good luck with your assignment."

An extensive dossier with papers and a black pen appeared before me.

"Please sign, send the papers back, and proceed to your point of start?

"The what, please?" I said.

"Sign, send, start," repeated the voice.

"I don't understand. Where am I, please?"

And right there, the shape turned into my aunt Rosie, with her pink glasses and a ton of attitude- my defunct aunt Rosie- and said:

"Honey, you are dead now, so you better move and haunt."

And that's how I discovered I was a ghost. Happy deathday to me.