Unliving It Up

The plastic bag in his left hand split, spilling its brains across the road like a zombie after a shot to the dome.

Ted Davis groaned like the re-dying undead as it realised it was dead once more. God, life was relentless. Here he was, alone, mid-thirties, having accomplished little beyond staying alive. There had been so much he’d wanted to try. He’d always wanted to have a teenage rebellion, to be cool, to act out, but he’d never dared to. Now, he was almost a decade and a half too late. He’d always played by the rules, and now look at him. He worked a nine-to-five that was killing him. He spent his evenings slobbing out in front of the TV, eating frozen pizzas. And his half-dead oven refused to cook those sad things all the way through to the middle.

And now half of his groceries had splattered onto the path.

‘Kill me now,’ he muttered.

It started to drizzle, the sky growing darker as daylight faded.

He sighed, hair sticking to his forehead from the dampness. Leave for work in darkness, return home in darkness. What a life. Ted collected his items, bundling what he could still save into his arms. He hurried for the door, not wanting to wait until the one in his other hand split too.

The wet bricks shimmered as fresh raindrops struck the puddles.

Ted’s foot skidded across a patch of wet moss. He slipped and fell backwards. One second, he was looking at the door to his apartment building; the next, he was looking at the sky.

The loose groceries flew like snowflakes made of microwave dinners.

Ted clutched the remaining plastic bag in his right hand. ‘Wha—’

His head hit the damp bricks with a crack.

He grunted, eyes rolling backwards.

Darkness.

Ted came around a while later. His head throbbed, and the world spun with the worst hangover he’d ever experienced. But that wasn’t saying much, because he’d never seized the opportunity to party when the time had been right.

Footsteps, a voice. A woman in a tracksuit walked by, on the phone. ‘So, I told Trish, I said, “Don’t you ever try nothing like that again or I will literally – and I mean lit-er-al-ly – kill you.”’

Ted called out to her, extending one arm. ‘Um, excuse me, miss, do you think you could call me an ambulance? I seem to have had a bit of an—’

She paid him no heed, continuing her conversation. ‘You know how I am, McKenzi, nothing comes between me and my man.’

‘Miss? Miss? I need some—’

She walked on, cackling.

‘—help?’

The woman disappeared around the corner.

What on earth? Why hadn’t she heard him? He was right here, for goodness’s sake, with his groceries bleeding out around him. Who’d ignore a man on the ground, needing help?

A cold thought chilled his bones.

Except if help was pointless?

Shaking, he checked his pulse, two fingers on the palm – that was how you did it, right?

Nothing.

Ted hoped he was doing the right thing. Work had offered a first aid course, but it required payment and was outside of work hours. So, he hadn’t found the motivation. He cupped his hand over his mouth and held his breath, counting to ten.

Nothing – only the rain drizzling and the breeze blowing.

His mouth became an upside-down horseshoe. He knew what was going on here. There had always been the chance that he could get around to the things he’d always wanted to do. That was what midlife crises were for, weren’t they? But now, he was dead – a ghost, a phantom, a spectre in the night.

The rain continued to spit.

Undead and invisible. Ted turned it around in his mind.

Overhead, the street lamps buzzed like the stars in the sky you could no longer see due to the light pollution.

Ted turned his frown into a grin. Nobody could see him. He was dead. That meant it was time to live it up. Finally! He leapt to his feet, swayed for a moment as nausea rushed him, and looked back.

But there was nothing except scattered groceries lying wounded on the battlefield.

He shook his head, rubbing his crown. Heaven – at least, he hoped so, and not their neighbours to the south – must have taken his body instead of his soul. Easy mistake to make, he supposed. But that left him here on earth, to wander and roam and do as he pleased for as long as he liked. It was much easier to have that rebel spirit when you were nothing but spirit. And then, once he’d finished all his unfinished business, he’d call up that place in the clouds. Ask them if they had a reservation for a Mr Davis. How was that for a slice of perfection?

He ran for the town square.

There, on a bench, on his phone, was a policeman. Some flashing video occupied his attention. On his countenance, he wore a vacant smile, eyes glazed.

Ted smirked. He swatted the copper’s hat off as he ran past. ‘And he hits it for six!’ he roared.

The policeman yelled, startled.

Ted sprinted on, heart hammering harder than it ever had whilst he’d lived. For a dead man, he sure felt alive.

Late-night shoppers and people returning home from work passed him by, drained and grey. None of them paid him any mind.

He could throw a bin through a store window, or steal a burger off someone’s plate, or—

There!

A woman with a toddler in a pram was staring, as if bewitched by a vampire’s glamour, through a shop window. A perfume ad starring a shirtless, muscular man and a woman in a ball gown was on the other side. ‘DON’T BE YOURSELF,’ read the tagline, ‘BE THE PERSON YOU USED TO WANT TO BE.’ The kid thrashed in the pram, trying to open the wrapper of a lollipop.

Ted breezed past, snatching the sweet out of the kid’s hands. ‘It’s bad for your teeth!’ he called back over his shoulder.

The child burst into tears, awakening his mother from her stupor. ‘What, what is it now, Billy?’

Ted didn’t stick around to find out if Billy had the vocal skills to explain his candy disappearing into a gust of wind. He was now on the high street, and although he didn’t quite know where his spectral feet were leading him, he trusted his instincts. And with good reason, too.

There, up ahead, was the town fountain, spraying water up into the air.

Ted took the lolly out of his mouth. Yes, that was it. The finale to tonight’s teenage middle-aged rebellion. He threw the sweet at the back of a bald man’s head, where it stuck. And set off again.

‘Oh my god, what is that?’ cried the man to his wife, who was swatting at him as though he were a wasp. ‘Get it off, get it off, getitoff!’

Ted didn’t hear him. He was already running.

The white-grey fountain towered above him, fifteen feet tall. It had several layers, with ever-smaller pools of water higher up.

Ted stood there, thinking. And then inspiration struck.

He unzipped his fly.

And urinated into the fountain.

‘Do you see that?’ hissed an older woman, hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror.

Ted smiled like a maniac. He imagined it was an odd sight, a stream of wee appearing out of nowhere and splashing into the blue waters. But what next, what next? Ah, but he already knew. He’d never had a voice that people would want to listen to, which made this next bit extra funny.

He climbed up to the first level of the fountain. He extended his arms – embracing the world – pulled in a breath, and belted out the music in his soul. ‘Goooood saaave oooour graaaaaccioooouuss Teeeeddd, looooongg liiiiiveee ooouuur noooooobbble Teeeeedd, Gooooooddd saaaavve oooouu—’

A woman cradling a baby stomped over to him, nose wrinkled. ‘For goodness’s sake, will you please stop that? You’re making a right old racket and I’m trying to get little Stevie to sleep.’

The words to ‘God Save the Ted’ died in Ted’s mouth. He tried to speak words, and all that came out was a dusty old croak. ‘Y—’ He blinked and struggled to breathe. ‘You can see me?’

‘Of course I can, we all can. Now, stop being such a prat and go home.’ She shook her head. ‘Drunk before ten on a Tuesday.’

Wait. If this woman could see him, that meant—

His pulse throbbed in his ears. Not dead. Oh God, what had he done? He’d embarrassed himself beyond redemption; his life was no longer worth living. He wished he could die, right here and now. If he didn’t get arrested first, that was. Peeing into the town fountain, knocking off the bobby on the beat’s hat – what on earth had he been thinking? He scrambled down the fountain.

More people had gathered, staring at him with disapproving eyes. Elbowing his way to the front was a disgruntled policeman. He clutched his hat to his head, as if in fear that it would fall off again. ‘Oi, there he is,’ he said, pointing, ‘the chap who knocked my hat off! Somebody stop him!’

Ted buried his head in his hands and ran.

Over the hubbub came a screaming toddler and a shrill voice. ‘Hey, he’s the one who stole my Billy’s lollipop! He made my baby cry!’

He shoved people aside, tripped over curbs, and staggered down the road. ‘Sorry! Sorry! I’m so sorry!’

‘I think he took a widdle in the fountain, too!’ said the older woman. ‘Dirty bugger!’

Ted ran faster. ‘I’m sorry!’ he choked, but nobody heard him.

‘Waving that thing around for everyone to see,’ she continued, ‘should be ashamed.’

Ted fled, crossing the road, still covering his eyes. ‘I didn’t th—’

A bell clanged into the night. Yellow light washed over him.

Ted pulled his hands away and looked in time to lock eyes with a bewildered tram driver.

Splat. Ted’s brains sprayed across the road like a split bag of groceries.

He did not come back as a ghost.