I walked out of the house as a buzzer was going off somewhere in the house. As the night quickly came upon me engulfing me in the darkness until I hastily got in my car and turned on the lights. Well the radio was playing some kind of fast jazz. I don’t even know why that music was playing I never listen to that kind of stuff. I quickly changed the station while I backed up out of my drive way and heard a scream. I slammed on my brakes hoping no one or anything was there. I jumped out of my car and ran around back like a mad man one might have assumed I was on crack. Nothing was there so I got back in my car and my station was back to jazz or at least it sounded like jazz. As I changed the station back to some good rockin’ music there was a high pitched squeal. This time I just acted like I didn’t hear the noise. “It was nothing,” I said to myself as I peeled out of the drive way to the road where all the cars were with their lights flashing past me. As cars honked at each other I rolled down my window to let some air in, since of course, my A/C is broken. That didn’t really help the air was thick. So thick you could taste it’s tastelessness as the fog screamed out, “watch out I will cause you to crash.” Just then there was another squeal the tires of a different car is what I must of heard I thought to myself as I looked up from the clock after figuring out I was already running behind. Very behind for that oh so important meeting I couldn’t miss. But of course this train had different plans I could just feel the train laughing at me telling me I’d be late as its coal cars went by, and to think about my boss and how he’d devour my job for my tardiness to this oh so important date. I waited for what seemed like an eternity to wait for this one dumb train. Next thing I knew my radio station had changed back to some fast paced orchestral music like one of those scores you’d expect to hear in an intense fight scene in a movie or something. As it did I wondered if it was just me but it couldn’t be because I changed the station back to what it was before. Then yet again there was another squeal. But I didn’t see any lights from anything. There wasn’t a thing to be seen in miles, of course I couldn’t see that far in the fog even though a tiny bit had lifted, but not too much, and I was in the middle of a vast rural area without any houses around. As I decided upon taking my radio in to get it checked out instead of checking my-self into a “Looney bin” it went back to the previous orchestral music that still seemed to shout hurry. As the music continued to taunt me to hurry and rush I began to speed up, accelerating faster than any normal person would I could feel my foot practically breaking through my shoe rubbing up against the rubber of the gas pedal pushing it towards the floor. Almost as if I was possessed but I knew I couldn’t have been possessed after all, “I’m a free spirit nothing and no one commands me and even at that ghosts aren’t real,” I thought to myself. Or at least I thought as my thoughts became more and more discombobulated as the speed of my car increased. I just remember the music and the rush that I was in going to a meeting a very important one. But at the time I forgot as I continued to drift down the same road for, I guess, the rest of my life definitely seemed that long looking back upon the day.

The day that the air and fog was so thick that you could taste it, and the day that seemed to tell a story a story that had a lot of endings for people. The day my radio kept changing almost as if it had its own mind. The day my changing kept causing squealing that reminded me of a dying herd of caribou and cars put together. The day that I realized life doesn’t always need to be rushed, and people should become more of an ocean on a calm day moving slowly but pleasantly. The day that I died I guess there are ghosts otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this. How did I die? Probably a car crash or at least I assume that squealing could have something to do with it, I guess once I really stop to speculate it I don’t know how I died. I am not sure how I’m supposed to move on or even if I want to. I definitely don’t want to move down I know that though. I can always make out a path leading down towards Hell or so it would seem with people screaming and chains around their ankles and wrists and even necks! In some cases it looks like they are missing limbs or still bleeding. I haven’t taken the time to go near enough to tell. Nor do I want to for fear of someone or something grabbing me and taking me down the stairs that lead down into Hell. I know if I go anywhere it sure as hell won’t be there. I can sprint away from the stairs for a little bit but that ungodly music that kept playing the day I died continues to play, it may fade when I don’t see the damn stairs but it is still fricken there. Once I see the stairs of this God forsaken world or whatever it is the music plays and as I run away the music escalates and becomes louder vibrating everything and practically stopping me dead in my tracks it’ll be a miracle if I can hear by the end of this. And the stench is practically unbearable the second I stop to rest and the stairs catch up with me it hits me like someone is shooting me with gun filled with the vilest smells known to mankind, mixed together with something else that reeked worse than anything I could even imagine. The green Ford escort is here to but the crap hole of a car doesn’t run here for whatever reason. As I looked in the window of the car I saw that my eyes had turned black, pitch black, and black just doesn’t help me look good at all. As I realized my feet were killing me I kicked of my stiletto heels and put on my now black converse shoes, and let out a sigh of frustration at the color of my eyes. They used to be such a beautiful hazel that was brought out by my long almond brown hair. “At least my hair hasn’t changed,” I thought to myself as I realized how grimy I felt my clothes were ripped in places, places I would prefer them not to be just barely keeping me covered up thank God the cuts in my shirt weren’t just a little lower. The rips in my pants wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t were dress pants. “Of course I had to be going to a meeting,” I thought to myself.
Thank God I don’t think us ghosts need any sleep. I’m not sure though I think I’ve only been here for a couple of hours but nothing seems to change. Not a single leave falls off a tree unless I pull it down but then there is a horrendous yelp, so I don’t pull leaves off any trees here or dare to touch any other things. And apparently my muscles can tire to and become sore but my body and mind just doesn’t seem to let me become tired to the point of sleep.