think that's going to happen," Dad said. "Just like Earth, I think we have to figure this out on our own." He reached out and touched my cheek. "A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way."
I laughed. "Mark Twain, huh? Are you telling me to be bold, Daddy?"
"I'm telling you to go for it, sweetie. Enjoy yourself. We'll be around if you need us."
Dad showed me how to keep in contact. Once you found someone in the afterlife and touched them, you could talk to them just about any time by thinking of them. I heard a faint whisper in my head and smelled fresh ink when Dad contacted me. With Mom, I smelled the herbal teas she always drank. I wondered what it would be like if someone who'd shoveled horse poop for a living contacted me.
I could call them too but couldn't tell if it was working until they answered me. I thought of my iPhone, Facebook status updates, and the countless tweets I'd sent over Twitter. Forget all that stuff. This was like having your own social network built into your head.
The only time this form of communication didn't work well was if one person was in the afterlife and the other was on Earth. At least we didn't have to pay long-distance charges. If someone called and you didn't want to answer, you didn't have to. Kyle kept bugging me with it like a kid with new walkie-talkies. He'd make me walk a distance then talk to him. We found it easier to talk out loud even though conversation came into my head as if Kyle's voice originated in there. He tried thinking the words instead of talking but random thoughts, some of which I did not want to hear, kept muddling things.
"If we can do this, what stops us from flitting to whoever we want to talk to?" he asked.
"Flitting" was the new term going around for how fast we ghosts could blur from one spot to another. If you knew exactly where you wanted to go, you could flit there in a matter of seconds.
"Guess I'll be your guinea pig again," I said.
He flitted to me after I answered his call. He tried it without me answering but couldn't.
"Thank God," he said, "or whatever imaginary deity created this place. At least I don't have to worry about my parents flitting in on me while I'm taking a dump."
I laughed at the absurd notion that a ghost would ever need or want to use the bathroom. I was keeping a mental list of all the things we'd never have to do again. I hadn't had to pee once and didn't even think about it. No bathrooms, no embarrassing periods or cramping. No hot flashes for older women or menopause. No pimples, no unwanted pregnancies. My list was getting pretty large for my memory to handle since I didn't have anything to write with.
But the last thing on my list made me a little sad. No more babies. I hadn't seen a single baby in the afterlife. The Robertsons down the street had given birth to their third child just before the end. I'd seen the Robertsons in the afterlife with their two daughters but not the infant boy. They were frantic. Then I saw them gathering with Ms. Tate's religious group and praying for answers. It wasn't just ghost babies I was worried about though. There would be no more human babies. Ever.
Humans as a species were extinct.
Chapter 3
Everything occurred in phases. The "Holy Crap, We're Dead!" phase was marked by mass hysteria. Mass euphoria resulted from the "Holy Crap, We're Free of Life's Burdens!" phase. Now things had shifted into the "Holy Crap, We Can Do Whatever We Want!" phase in which mass indulgence made the ancient Romans look like teetotalers.
Aside from those reserved groups of religious people who were still waiting on their god or the Flying Spaghetti Monster to save them, people began to experiment with insane possibilities. And yeah, I was one of those people. The apparent lack of anything that could kill us—not to mention insane boredom—certainly made us
I laughed. "Mark Twain, huh? Are you telling me to be bold, Daddy?"
"I'm telling you to go for it, sweetie. Enjoy yourself. We'll be around if you need us."
Dad showed me how to keep in contact. Once you found someone in the afterlife and touched them, you could talk to them just about any time by thinking of them. I heard a faint whisper in my head and smelled fresh ink when Dad contacted me. With Mom, I smelled the herbal teas she always drank. I wondered what it would be like if someone who'd shoveled horse poop for a living contacted me.
I could call them too but couldn't tell if it was working until they answered me. I thought of my iPhone, Facebook status updates, and the countless tweets I'd sent over Twitter. Forget all that stuff. This was like having your own social network built into your head.
The only time this form of communication didn't work well was if one person was in the afterlife and the other was on Earth. At least we didn't have to pay long-distance charges. If someone called and you didn't want to answer, you didn't have to. Kyle kept bugging me with it like a kid with new walkie-talkies. He'd make me walk a distance then talk to him. We found it easier to talk out loud even though conversation came into my head as if Kyle's voice originated in there. He tried thinking the words instead of talking but random thoughts, some of which I did not want to hear, kept muddling things.
"If we can do this, what stops us from flitting to whoever we want to talk to?" he asked.
"Flitting" was the new term going around for how fast we ghosts could blur from one spot to another. If you knew exactly where you wanted to go, you could flit there in a matter of seconds.
"Guess I'll be your guinea pig again," I said.
He flitted to me after I answered his call. He tried it without me answering but couldn't.
"Thank God," he said, "or whatever imaginary deity created this place. At least I don't have to worry about my parents flitting in on me while I'm taking a dump."
I laughed at the absurd notion that a ghost would ever need or want to use the bathroom. I was keeping a mental list of all the things we'd never have to do again. I hadn't had to pee once and didn't even think about it. No bathrooms, no embarrassing periods or cramping. No hot flashes for older women or menopause. No pimples, no unwanted pregnancies. My list was getting pretty large for my memory to handle since I didn't have anything to write with.
But the last thing on my list made me a little sad. No more babies. I hadn't seen a single baby in the afterlife. The Robertsons down the street had given birth to their third child just before the end. I'd seen the Robertsons in the afterlife with their two daughters but not the infant boy. They were frantic. Then I saw them gathering with Ms. Tate's religious group and praying for answers. It wasn't just ghost babies I was worried about though. There would be no more human babies. Ever.
Humans as a species were extinct.
Chapter 3
Everything occurred in phases. The "Holy Crap, We're Dead!" phase was marked by mass hysteria. Mass euphoria resulted from the "Holy Crap, We're Free of Life's Burdens!" phase. Now things had shifted into the "Holy Crap, We Can Do Whatever We Want!" phase in which mass indulgence made the ancient Romans look like teetotalers.
Aside from those reserved groups of religious people who were still waiting on their god or the Flying Spaghetti Monster to save them, people began to experiment with insane possibilities. And yeah, I was one of those people. The apparent lack of anything that could kill us—not to mention insane boredom—certainly made us
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