The Path Beyond

by job perez

"Whoa! That was one cool move! A bit dumb, but noble."

 "What the hell? Who said that?"

"Yo dude, what's up? How's your arm? Or what's left of it."

 "And who the hell might you be?"

"That's being rude man. It was a bit hard tracking your sorry ass. I think I deserve a little appreciation. By the way, the name's Free. That's with two E's. Look, it's normal for dead people to be in a state of shock, it happens all the time. But in your case, snap out of it. We have work to do."

 "Work? What work? And, WE? Does that mean you and me? Us?"

"Yes."

 "I'm not DEAD!"

"Yeah, right. Why don't you get down from there and try to recall the last thing you did."

     I realized I was floating, and with that sudden realization, I felt myself slowly coming back. It was a bit fuzzy when my feet touched the ground. I looked at the man beside me. He was about 5'5" in height, dressed in all black, could have been 155 pounds, and must have been about my age.

"Some fashion statement. Don't tell me you're the entity called 'Death'?" I blurted.

"I thought I told you to think of what happened before you got here?"

     It was around two. I just got out of a boring class. As I stepped out of the building, I inhaled a lungful of oxygen. The air seemed stale and rotten inside that blasted place. My stomach grumbled. "It's about time for breakfast," I thought. I looked around. A group of five was having an acoustic jam under the acacia tree. The benches were occupied by a bunch of giggly girls, oh God, everything's so darn normal. I felt like I was in some teenybopper movie.

About thirty degrees to my left, and fifteen meters away, there she was. As if waiting for someone, she stood there motionless on one leg. The wind blew gently on her rather expressionless face. Her large brown eyes occasionally blinked in response to the dust particles carried by the wind. Bonnie sure was a sight for sore eyes. She wasn't 'all that' but I get this cheesy feeling whenever she's within a forty-meter radius. I've practically memorized her features, her high cheekbones, her eternally pony-tailed hair, her eyes that drown me when she smiles, and even her un-ladylike way of walking. I just stood there, frozen in the act of staring at her. I can close my eyes and still be able to paint her exact image on my mind. I drifted farther and farther away until I was brought back to reality again with one loud crash.

A blue 1998 Corolla slammed to the electric post nearby. The rotten post was creaking. It was going to collapse. As it tilted slowly, as if some unknown force possessed me, I sort of got the premonition that it was about to hit her, rotten wood, buzzing live wires and all. I don't know how it happened, but I sprang to my feet and dashed toward her. I could hear distorted screams everywhere. It could have been clearer but the adrenaline must have kicked in. I had her image drawn in my mind, and I was focused on saving her, there was nothing else in my mind. With all my weight and momentum, I pushed her out of the way. I knew it would hurt her, at 20 kph, and at 135 lbs, I was sure she'd be bruised. I wanted to say 'sorry' but I felt a thump to my right shoulder and then I blacked out. I am dead. Wow, I finally got what I was wishing for, for the last five years.

"You have the look of someone who.. err just realized he's already dead," said Free.

  "What happens now?" I asked.

"Look, You weren't supposed to be there, and you weren't supposed to die."

  "What do you mean I weren't supposed to be there, and I weren't supposed to die?"

"You weren't supposed to be there, and you weren't supposed to die, which part of that is vague?"

  "Ok, so what happens now?"

"You're going back."

  "To life?"

"No. To the future. Of course it's back to life. Keep pushing and I'll personally escort you to Hades."

     Free looked serious. He handed me an empty flask with a cork stopper. It was a small, stout bottle, and can probably hold up to 275 milliliters. It had a small ring handle on the neck. Kind of resembled the lambanog bottle, only smaller.

"Now what?"

  "You have to collect tears caused by your death."

"What the... How?"

  "Okay, it's not exactly tears. It's the emotion, err, you see, when a loved one dies, the people left behind would have this feeling that they want the person back. Get what I mean? With that flask, you're going to collect those feelings. All you have to do is go near the person, open the flask, and it will do the rest. Don't forget to cork it when you're done. You might spill it. And oh yeah, don't break the flask. You were clumsy when you were alive."

"Why do I have to do that?"

  "We have to measure you, something to that effect. You see, it is not so useful to bring you back if the living doesn't want you there anyway. Just fill the flask and it's 'beam me up, Scottie!' for you."

"Wait a minute, how am I supposed to go back? My body's kinda err... damaged."

  "Don't worry about it, if you actually get to fill the flask, we go back to the part where you pushed her, but the post won't hit you."

"Huh?"

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