Confessions of the Recently Deceased: Crunch
I'm pretty sure I'm dead. No, I know I'm dead. I saw the white light and everything. It turns out that the dazzling white light is just the energy of your soul. Eventually, you get used to it, and it doesn't blind you anymore.
I died in that car accident. I was driving on the freeway – an 18-wheeler ahead of me and a second one behind me. The truck in front had to stop suddenly, and I couldn't. Neither could the truck behind me. Crunch. Mostly what I remember were those few seconds before something happens, and that sinking feeling when you know you're not going to avoid a crash. I have a feeling I'm lucky I wasn't watching myself as the firemen cleaned me out of the car.
Funny thing when you're dead, you suddenly know everything about the people you knew when you were alive. My uncle likes to molest boys between the ages of 10 and 13, and my mother had an affair with my 10th-grade history teacher. I'm glad I didn't know these things while I was alive, though I could have ratted out my uncle and saved some poor kids from molestation.
I can't do much of anything now. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. There aren't any angels guiding me to heaven, or demons dragging me to hell. There are no other ghosts or living people. I'm just sort of here – wherever "here" is. How long is this going to last?