Grave

They were piling dirt on my body. More and more dirt. I’d breathed my last breath and they’d all come to celebrate my passing, or mourn it—I wasn’t sure which one it was. When I was young, I joked that I would’ve wished for a party after my dying if I’d been any fun, but I was too moody for that.

The preacher was there and she was as poetic as ever, but nothing seemed quite sincere enough to pass for authentic.

“Today, we mourn the passing of George Dean. He was a good man. He never lied, cheated, or stole. He was always there for the people he loved. He had a band. It was called The Bruises. They were well-loved not by many, but by few.”

I rolled my eyes at that one—she had to mention my notoriously small following after my passing, no matter how hard I’d tried to figure it out. I was a guitar player, but not a very good one. I was a better singer. All of this was good—good enough for me anyways, but not for my parents or for enough people to follow me for me to actually earn any semblance of an income from my work. That was my dream—earning a living, you know.

The minute my spirit left my body, it walked over to her. Angel was her name. Angel Belladonna. She was Italian on her mom’s side, French on her dad’s. Angel Belladonna was the love of my life. She was the one who had handed out pills for us musicians to get to sleep after late-night gigs. It was hard to wind down after the high we got from the crowd—albeit a small one. She’d give us codeine to help us doze off. It was an incredible way to relax and I had grown dependent not only on the pills, but on her. She was the love of my life, as I’ve said before, with flowing black hair and fire-engine red lips. She wore a lacy black corset exhibiting all but the most intimate parts of her breasts and skinny jeans that were quite dark.

Anyways, I crawled back to that place. To her. She lived underneath a bridge but somehow managed to maintain a flawless appearance. She only had one outfit but I suppose she could somehow afford to wash her clothes because they never smelled. She must have also had enough for shampoo since her hair was always clean and well-combed. I guess living by the water helped, and maybe she worked part-time and brought in barely enough to get by. Well, to look like she was getting by even though she wasn’t. That was probably from selling the codeine.

Of course!

I’d finally put it all together: Most people didn’t know where she lived. I did. I’d followed her on a dreary Monday night as the moon hung over the water, its reflection irking me because I was as tired as a man could be. This time, she was there, snacking on some chips which looked rather stale.

I waved desperately, but she did not see me.

“Hello, Angel! Hello!”

“She continued snacking.”

Oh shit. I’m a ghost.

I realized after it was too late to do anything about it.

She can’t see me. I’ll never be able to tell her how I feel about her. I guess, if she can’t see me, she probably can’t hear me either.

“Angel Belladona. I love you.”

I pulled out a diamond ring from my pants pocket and knelt down in front of her, hoping she would see it.

She shuddered.

“What’s that? Who’s there?”

“It’s me. George Dean.”

She must’ve only heard a whisper because she completely misunderstood what I was saying.

“It’s who, Margarie Green? I don’t know a Margarie Green.”

She swiftly moved out to the river, tiptoeing on the rocks since she was barefoot.

“Angel. Please! I love you!”

She held up a hand.

“Stop it! I’m going insane. That’s all this is. I’m hearing shit I shouldn’t hear! It’s been a long day. I’m going to bed.”

She laid down immediately, shutting me out.

My heart sank.

“I wish I was there with you. I wish I could tell you how much I love you. How much that codeine helped me get through a tough time, but I can’t. I’m just here, a ghost. Goodbye, Angel.”

I blew her a kiss.

“I will always love you.”

That’s when it happened. My spirit was swept away, my feet leaving the ground. I was blown upwards into the sky and then pushed downwards deep into the ground. The pressure would have killed me had I not already been dead. There he was on a black throne, ram horns protruding from it.

“Hello. I am Lucifer.”

“Hey man, what’s up? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I am the Prince of Darkness. I will forever taunt you if you do not fear and respect my name.”

“Okay.”

I held back a chuckle.

Man. This guy takes himself pretty seriously.

“So, Lucifer, with all due respect, why am I here?”

“You are in Hell because you have lusted over Angel Belladonna. She consumed you. You lusted over money and fame your whole life. That’s punishment enough if you don’t receive what you are looking for, but you deserve a deeper punishment still.”

“And what might that be?”

“Being knocked around by a hurricane for the rest of your life. You were always in your head, daydreaming. Wishing you would become more than you ever did.”

“Okay. Thank you, sir.”

“For what?”

“Damning me for all eternity, I guess.”

Lucifer sneered.

“My pleasure.”

He paused, then motioned to a doorway carved into the cave we were in.

“Go on.”

I walked there, shivering, although this place would never be cold. At least, not temperature-wise, if you know what I mean. Emotionally, it was the iciest place I’ve ever been to, as one would expect, I guess.

That’s when I saw her. Angel Belladonna. Her picture was on the wall of the cave. I tried to touch it, but couldn’t. Then, suddenly, it disappeared and I was in a whirlwind forever. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t play my music or sing to an audience, regardless of how bad or good I was. I was just blown around. Forever. I’m still being blown around to this day. I just wish I could have some of that codeine, to check out, you know, but Angel Belladonna is nowhere to be found. Nonetheless, she will always remain in my mind, whether she likes it or not. I just wish I would have made love to her that one night when I had a chance. Now it’s too late. She’ll never know how I feel about her. She’ll never understand that she’s the love of my life.