• Yesterday I died. It's an odd feeling. I expected it to be excruciatingly painful when that drunken driver hit while I was crossing the road. I guess I deserved it. I mean, I'd just had an argument with my mom and ran away angrily with only the clothes on my body, Wuthering Heights in my backpack and a half-eaten ice-cream cone which I cleverly stole away from an old guy sleeping next to the dustbin. I didn't even get to finish Wuthering Heights...

    Yesterday I died. It's an odd feeling. I expected to go to heaven. But i haven't yet. I'm sitting on a rock, watching my own funeral. This is the same rock which I sat on when I watched my grandmother's funeral. I cried. This time my mom's crying. She thinks it's her fault. Why? Why do people blame themselves. I don't understand. Maybe, I was meant to die. Maybe, this was all meant to be. Maybe, my death can teach others not to be so reckless...

    Yesterday I died. It's an odd feeling. I'm in my mom's dreams. She's dreaming about me: when i was born, my first birthday, when I first started riding a bike. I could see tears in her eyes. I found out i could talk to her. I told her that I was okay, that she didn't need to worry about me, that I didn't blame her, so she shouldn't blame herself and that the only thing I regretted was not getting one last hug from her. The next day, I saw that she was peaceful. My mom had gotten over my death. I noticed, that she went up to one of my school photos and hugged it; hugged it and cried. I cried too.

    Yesterday I died. It's not that odd of a feeling. I'm in a place. A quiet, peaceful place, sort of like a tea garden. There's something on the table. Oh, look, it's Wuthering Heights.