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I’ve never seen so many beautiful flowers in such an ugly, dark place. Everyone was sad, a few were crying. I guess it was one of those situations where you are too sad to cry, or that it hasn’t really sunken in yet. All of my friends and family were there. Aunt Judy, Uncle Mark, Cousin Leo, and my younger sister Evee. I would glance at them every once in a while but it was like I wasn’t even there. Instead of looking at me, everyone seemed to look through me. They were looking, but they weren’t seeing. I never said hello. Neither did any one else. People just gave each other nods of acknowledgment, like everything that could’ve been said was spoken in one slight motion of their heads. There was a table set up with things to eat. Small sandwiches, bite sized pastries, crackers and cheese and such. The only person eating any of it was my two year old, second cousin Remy, who was too young to understand anything and to feel the grief that created a heavy fog hanging in the room like one hundred year old cob webs. The sun was out that day but it wasn’t shinning. There were no clouds to block its glorious light, but it produced more of a glow than a shine. Even though I was in a funeral parlor I didn’t know who died. I made a checklist of my family members in my head. As I moved about the room I made a mental check next to each of the names. Instead of walking, or even skulking, it felt like I was floating. I looked down at my feet to make sure they were on the ground. They were.
Everyone was here, no one was missing. I had gone over my list twice to make sure and my results didn’t change. I figured I would find out soon enough. I began to look at the flowers to try and brighten my mood. Even though it was a bit selfish of me, I figured there was no use mourning someone I didn’t even know. There were all sorts of flowers. Lilies, daisies, lupine, clavia, and fresias. The most common flowers I saw were purple orchids. Those were always my favorite. Midst the flowers there were also open cards that said things like “We will always miss her” and “She was beautiful inside and out.” Now I really wanted to know who it was who was so greatly missed. I finally came to one of the last cards. It was in my grandma’s handwriting. I read it slowly.
“Winona was my sun on a rainy day. She was a flower in a patch of weeds. I will always love her, even in death.”
I am Winona. My eyes fluttered, but my mind fluttered faster. How could this be? Am I really dead? I screamed but no one even flinched. I tried to remember. I tried to find any memory that could give me a hint as to how this happened. I tried. I did nothing but try. I didn’t succeed but I didn’t fail either. It was just a never ending cycle of trying but not getting anywhere. So I ran for the door. I reached for the door knob but I stumbled and fell through the door. I knew I had hit the pavement on the other side, but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything. Not the sunshine, not the breeze I could hear whistling through the trees, not anything. I crawled to the sidewalk to sit under a tree. I tried to lean against it but my head just went through that too. I just decided no to move any more. Just stop trying. People on foot and by car passed by me, but they only saw the tree and not the bottom half of a dead girl. To my surprise I thought I felt something touch my foot. I sat up and my head emerged from the tree. I looked up and saw a girl with pink and black hair, a leather jacket with studs, loose men’s pants being held up by a belt with even more studs than the jacket, big black boots that made her about five foot nine, and one more stud in her nose. People seemed to pass by her the same way they passed by me.
“So,” she said, “I guess you didn’t make it after all” her voice was scratchy and she didn’t sound like she genuinely cared.
“What do you mean? How can you see me?” I asked. Her mouth morphed into something that resembled a scowl as she punched trough the tree.
“How do you think genius?” So she was a ghost too. Maybe that’s how I felt her nudge my foot.
“So are you gonna get up or are you just gonna fall back into the tree?” her voice never seemed to change pitch. It just stayed at one even melancholy tone. As I got up I noticed that a faint beam of sunlight seemed to pierce through her head. When I was finally up right she glanced at my toes them back to my face.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Winona.” I murmured. She looked me up and down one more time then seemed to frown a bit.
“Funny, you don’t really look like a Winona.” I wasn’t quite sure whether or not I should take that as an insult or something else entirely. Then she just turned around and began walking the other way. She didn’t even look back to see if I followed her, which I did. What else was I suppose to do? Where else could I possibly go?
“The name’s Gin.” She said, like some how her name explained everything about her.
“Like the card game?” I asked. She stopped abruptly and turned her head only the slightest bit.
No stupid the drink.” Her voice had gone from despondent to sarcastic in one fell swoop. She then began to walk just as abruptly as she had stopped. I had to jog about two steps to catch up.
“What did you mean when you said ‘I guess you didn’t make it after all’?” I asked. She stopped again but this time she turned around completely. She stared at me and raised her eyebrow.
“You mean you don’t remember?” She said with a dumbfounded expression. I shook my head.
“You were hit by a car.”

"W-what?" I stuttered.

"Come with me." And with that, she turned around and began walking.

"This is it," she said, lifting her arms as if she were presenting something. "This is where it happened." We were standing on the corner of Cherry Street and Harlington Lane. The stop sign was gone and there were skid marks on the road.

"You remember anything yet?" Gin asked. I looked around a little more then sighed.

"Nope," I said shaking my head. "I got nothing." Gin bit her lip and looked around.

"Try touching one of the skid marks." She said tilting her head towards the road. I gave her a confused look, but she just jerked her head again. I crept over to one of the marks and kneeled down. I stretched out my hand but looked back at Gin one more time. She was pressing her tongue to the side of her cheek and looking at her boots. I turned my head back to look at my hand. Finally, I stretched my fingers and touched the mark and to my surprise, I could feel the texture of the road. Then, everything became a blur. Things just seemed to be flying by, like when a space ship went into warp speed in Star Wars. Everything went from light to dark, light to dark, and back. Days were flying by. I counted at least twenty, almost a month. Then, things seemed to slow down. It was night time. Coming down Cherry Street I could see my small yellow punch buggie rolling along at a decent speed. I watched myself come to a stop at the corner and look both ways, taking basic driving precautions. I began to pull around the corner when a giant light came hurdling down Harlington Lane. The light smashed into my car, completely destroying the drivers side. The deathly light turned out to be a big black Hummer. A hooded figure leapt from the Hummer and ran over to my car. They looked at my dying body and reeled back. Then the coward took off running into the park. I began to scream but everything went blurry as I came hurdling back to the present. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see the days fly by. I didn't want to face the reality that I, Winona Sillow, was dead. 

I felt things slow down so I opened my eyes. The cars were gone and it was now day time. I could no longer feel the road. I could hear Gin behind me, kicking at the dirt with her clunky boot.

"How did you know?" I asked, not turning around. My words had come out in faint breaths. Like baby breaths. I knew she had heard me but it took her a while to answer.

"'Cause I was there." she murmured. I turned around and gave her another look of confusion. She scowled and kicked the ground harder.

"Just 'cause I'm dead doesn't mean I can't see shit happen!" Her voice came out like a bark. She was trying to be tough, but her eyes betrayed her. She looked at me a while longer then turned her head.

"And I've been dead for a while." She whispered, but I heard her. I stood up and walked over to her.

"So how did you go?" I asked boldly. So boldly I surprised myself.

"I drowned." She stated simply. Her voice no longer came out harsh or dead. Instead it had a hint of sadness behind it, the sadness you could see swimming behind her eyes like tadpoles. Neither of us said anything after that. We both just looked at the ground. Occasionally I would look up, but Gin's gaze never left the ground. It was like she was looking down into Hell, getting lost in the flames.

"Gin," I muttered. She lifted her head, but just barely, "can I go see my family?" Her eyes narrowed and her mouth formed a small pout.

"Why are you asking me?" She growled. She lifted her head and the small tadpoles were gone. The flames had consumed them.

"I don't care what you do or where you go. I couldn't care less." Now her eyes matched her words. She let her eyes do the talking as she glared at me. Her angry pout disintegrated and then she turned away.

I wasn't sad as I walked away from Gin. I wasn't angry because of the way she spoke to me I actually pitied her a bit. I pitied her inability to trust those who only wanted to help. I had wanted to help her, but clearly my assistance was unwanted and in her eyes unneeded. But the more I thought about it the more I realized how little I could actually do. I would be no more than someone to talk to. I wouldn't even be able to give her advice on how to fix her situation because her situation, our situation, can not be fixed or undone. No! I told myself, shaking my head back and forth. Don't think like that. Things always happen for a reason. But what, exactly, was the reason for this? What did the universe gain from my death? I shook my head again, preferring to drop the subject of death entirely. The accident didn't happen far from my house, it was actually only two blocks away. I turn the corner and see my house. I spent all seventeen years of my life in that house and some how I feel like I'm just meeting someone for the first time. I climbed the front steps and raised a fist to knock, and stopped, remembering my encounter with the door at the funeral home. I let my arm drop and proceeded through the door. As expected, the room was gloom. The ceiling light was emitting a faint shimmer, just enough to make out the shapes and patterns of the furniture. The living room was unoccupied. As I moved on towards the kitchen I saw my mother scrubbing away at the stove. Cleaning was always her gateway to peace. "A clean house is a happy house." She'd tell Evee and I that when we were little, trying to influence us the help her dust, mop, or polish. It worked too. I stood there for a while, watching her clean, waiting for her to sense my presence. She didn't. She never looked up, not even a pause in her scrubbing. Nothing. I looked down at my shoes, a frown creeping along my face. Disappointment spread throughout my body much like a bottle of spilt paint. I could feel it staining my skin, my clothes, my hair. It was blue paint. People always picture ghosts as being white, like the person who was deceased was dipped in a vat of white paint. I think ghosts are blue, the sad ones at least. The color really depends on the emotions felt by ghost. Some are green with envy of those still living. Others are red with vengeance, while some are black. They feel nothing. Gin is purple. A misunderstood sadness floats about her.