My last memory as a human was a glimpse of two flickering headlights, and two different voices asking each other, “Will she make it?”
It has been three years since my lungs ceased to perform their function of making me breathe oxygen; now I inhale the scent of grief and sorrow. It has been three years since I had stopped eating, but now, I feed on humans’ negative emotions, hoping I could take it away from them so that they will only feel bliss, not sorrow.
Why do I know it has been three years?
I don't know, but I just know.
What have I become?
I’m not even sure.
All I know is I roam the earth along with both living people and those who have already passed away but can’t go to the afterlife yet.
My life, if I can call it life, is never dull after the night I got hit by a car whose headlights were uneven. The left side seemed faint and gloomy, while the right light was bright and shiny.
My life now, in fact, has been more exciting than when I was still breathing air. In my current state, I can travel across borders and visit different countries free of charge.
But I can’t deny the fact that until now, I’m still looking for the owner of those voices I heard before I succumbed to death. They were the last people who saw me, and I want to know what did they do to me that night.
“Waiting for your meal?”
It’s Forty-five. Just like me, he is also something else. Sometimes he’s a rock. Sometimes he’s in the air. He preferred to be called Forty-five because it was his last memory as a human too. It was his age when he also died.
He has told me his story, saying he had also seen headlights before he shut his eyes forever.
“Yeah,” I answered. I propped my elbows on a tombstone of a newly born baby who died prematurely because of genetic complications.
“You think her parents will be back to grieve?”
I nod.
Although I’m not sure when her parents will be back, I know they would weep when they visit again. I know people cry when their loved ones die.
Did someone cry for me when I also passed away?
Did my parents even know I died?
I sighed because I really don’t know the answer.
“Are you still waiting for those two?” Forty-five asked me. I can’t see him, so I don’t know what facial expression he even has at that time.
“Yeah. I want to know what will happen to me next. Are you also waiting for them to show up?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, yes? Maybe, no? But I once heard from the lemongrass that those two make their appearance when a lone person is about to die. I’m not sure if they are the ones taking the lives, though. He also said that they appear again once someone is to change its nature.” He paused. I don’t know what he does, and then he speaks again. “I remembered seeing headlights too when I changed into a stone. And when I became a fish, I saw it too.”
‘…when a lone person is about to die…’
His words struck me.
Was I all alone when I was alive?
No family. No friends. But A.L.O.N.E.
“Were you alone in your life before you died?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he abruptly answered. “The lemongrass too was alone when he was human.”
Our conversation goes on like how our existence cycle keeps going. And as we talk, the other side of me has been occupied with the thought of what will I become in my next stage.
I sighed. I guess I’ll just have to ask those two.
The one with the scent of peace and love, whose voice is gentle and soothing.
And the one who gives off the putrid smell of agony and torture, whose voice is as terrifying as death itself.
When it’s time for me to change my form again, I’ll ask them what form will they give me next.
I’ll ask them if I’ll ever be reborn as a human again. And if I will be, I’ll make a request that they give me to a loving family and surround me with lots of friends.
I’ll ask them why we need to assume different forms.
I’ll ask them what are the headlights for.
