text: What would it be like to live someone else’s last day on earth? With no body of my own, I can only borrow one when the human is closest to the gates between life and death, and that occurs only on their last day. I’ve died hundreds of times, and yet, the only one I remember is my own. Death doesn’t appreciate it when I take over someone else’s consciousness. He insists I should give them that precious time to spend with their loved ones. I disagree. Most of them know that they’re already dying, and most of them have given up. All I do is give them a moment of peace before they find their way through the Afterlife. Why do I do this? Well, it’s simple really. I have what most other trapped spirits have: unfinished business. I can’t pass over until I’ve completely fulfilled my purpose as determined by Fate. This is my chance to finish. “You have to return the body by midnight,” Death stood next to me, the usual judgmental frown pasted on his grey lips. “I know, you don’t have to remind me every time,” I readjusted my host’s hat, not satisfied with how her bangs fell on my face, but it was a minor detail I was willing to overlook for the time being. “You forgot one time...more like twelve times, but who’s counting.” I turned to the well-dressed man, his pale skin offset by strikingly amber eyes. He always found a way to highlight all my past flaws and follies. He held them over my head as if I were a criminal, which wasn’t too far from the truth, but still. It hurt. “I won’t forget this time. And it was eleven.” “No, I'm fairly sure it was twelve. I had to lead the poor spirit back to its home and move the body accordingly.” Death was not amused. I slipped on a pair of green sneakers and tossed the hat back onto the bed. “I didn’t forget to return the body, I remembered. I just really wanted to stop for some chicken nuggets and the wait time kind of screwed me over.” Death’s sigh made me chuckle. I got on his nerves, and that was a major achievement for me. Not every ghost can say that they cause him as much trouble as I do. If they had trophies for this, I’d be the three time champion. Back to back to back. Undefeated. “Technicalities,” Death ran a hand through his thick, ebony hair. “Just be back here, I don’t want to have to run around looking for a body that you can’t even help me find.” “It’s not my fault I lose all memories of my host’s death. If anything, it’s your fault.” He sat on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He mouthed something in Latin that I didn’t quite catch, but I assume it was frustration. “Do what you need to do Cyra, I’m getting tired of your inability to cross over.” His words stung me. After all these years of pestering and following him, he still didn’t get it. I couldn’t cross over because I couldn’t complete what Fate required of me. If I did, I’d disappear forever. What would the point be? Death didn’t know what I had to do; that was between me and Fate, but sometimes she was cruel. I had to find love. This was kind of difficult when I had a different face every day, and never spent an extended period of time in one spot. Honestly, it was kind of impossible, or so I thought. The one thing that remained consistent from body to body, day to day, was Death. I remember when we first met, when he took my hand and pulled me into a dimly lit room. I had so many questions, but he was patient. He seemed tired, uninterested, as if he were engaged in some monotonous aspect of life. Which is what I imagine death is, at least to him. Collecting souls was menial labor, that’s why he had Reapers guide typical souls to their permanent resting places. Death only ever personally dealt with souls like mine, the Incompletes. He set up a meeting for me with Fate, and told me to listen to her instructions. Then, I’d be able to rest. So I did, but I never expected her to curse me the way she did. “You have to fall in love,” she told me. “But...they also have to love you.” “How am I supposed to find a lover when I’m dead?” I asked, almost outraged by her decree. She only shrugged. “That’s not my place to say. It’s what you have to do if you want to complete your life and pass over. I’m sorry.” A moment of silence passed before she spoke again. “Not all souls decide to pass over. If you really wanted, you could remain on earth as an incomplete spirit. It can be quite fun, from what I hear.” “No,” I interjected. “I want to go. There’s nothing for me here.” “Then good luck. Feel free to take a mint on your way out.” I spent six years trying to leave this place, and I was unsuccessful every day. Honestly, I didn’t see the point in trying, until Death personally stepped in to help me. He gave me advice about possession, stayed by my side when I needed him, and would keep me from having too much fun. For the longest time, he was a glorified babysitter. Then our dynamic shifted. It was recent, about a month ago, and I had just forgotten where I left a body again. This time was especially disorienting though, and I was lost. For a while, I forgot everything: who I was, what I was doing, I didn’t even realize I was dead. Then I saw Death approach me and something clicked. I knew his sullen face, permanent exhaustion evident in his stern gaze, five o’clock shadow that tickled my forehead when he drew me close. “You’re not supposed to still be in there when your host dies,” he whispered to me. “You leave. I don’t care if you return the body, but you have to leave it before midnight.” I don’t remember much after that. I think he left me on some grave in Pennsylvania, and when I woke up I felt better. My only memory of that night was the simple words he whispered to me. I never asked him about it because it felt like a dream. But ghosts don’t dream. It was real. And that was the moment I knew I was in love with Death. Maybe that’s why I kept up with possession. He was always there to make sure I left my host, so I always got to see him. Most times, he seemed tired of my antics, but he kept coming back. I sometimes wondered if there was more to it, but he always seemed a little too eager to get rid of me. But he is the one. The cruel irony of it all is that if I said anything to him, I'd lose him forever. I asked him one time, what happened when I passed over, if I’d ever see him again. He got quiet, and avoided the question. I think we both knew the answer. And so we had a mutual understanding, an unspoken rule of sorts. We wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t act on it, but still spent as much time as we could together. I loved him, but I knew I had to leave. I feel like Fate knew I was ready to pass on a while ago, but even she has a sliver of humanity. She was giving me enough time to say goodbye, in whatever way I felt appropriate. And so there I was, on my last day, sitting in the cemetery. I had the note I had written laid down on a tuft of lush grass. There were no flowers, no other surrounding pops of color. The sole attention was drawn to the letter, encased by a pale blue envelope. The few words I had slid onto the paper were carved into my mind. “Dear Death, Disappearing is terrifying. You never told me how scary it all is. I almost wish I could stay in the In-Between, never crossing over, but I think we both know that’s not an option at this point. Before I go, I just want to say thank you for helping me. You made my last days as perfect as they could be, and I owe you one. So, if you’re ever in the Afterlife, whatever that may be, come find me. I want to say that I’ll remember you, but I don’t know that much. If I don’t, help me to. Be patient, and trust me. I’m not as dumb as I look. I love you. Cyra.” I glanced at the watch on my wrist and swallowed. Eleven fifty-four. Six minutes. I wanted to run back to him, hold him as I said goodbye, but I knew that would only make it hurt more. He would find my host’s body, see the letter, read it, and come find me one day. At least I hoped he would. I knew he would. He had to. I laid down next to the letter, gazing one last time at the deep ocean above me. I’d miss this place. I miss him already.