The apartment I moved into in Otherside is somehow even crappier than the one I lived in when I was alive.
Originally, I'd say the only perk is that I live alone, but now I'm just lonely. I'd even take my shitty room mate who snores and leaves her hair all over the shower walls over this quiet.
I got a job working in the only bookstore in town. Maybe in all of Otherside.
Even in death, no one really seems to have the time to read. All the books are ones found at suicide scenes, too, and just crossed over when their owners did. So there aren't many happy books.
Back Home, I met him in a library. He was checking out a Robert Frost collection. Cliche, I know.
I haven't seen any Robert Frost yet, but I always look.
My coworker killed herself real Sylvia Plath style, by carbon monoxide poisoning. There's a lot of Plath in the bookstore.
My coworker's name is Meryl, and she rides a purple bike to work.
Once Meryl and I went out for a cup of tea after work. But tea in Otherside really just tastes like stale water.
We went back to her place afterwards and fucked on her obviously unwashed sheets. I'd never slept with a girl before, but I figured death is all about trying new things.
Meryl smelled like honey and dried roses and nothing like how he did. But she didn't smell like death either, and I think that's why I did it.
Then the morning after I fucked Meryl, I got a letter. I never heard of anyone getting mail in Otherside, but it was sitting on my coffee table when I got home.
The letter smelled like laundry and autumn leaves and sleep.
It was from him.