It's PG-13 and its as unedited as a story can get from a untalented shitty writer.

    So, anyway here's the story. And in between to be safe, its PG-13.

    “Stop you, dirty scoundrel,” I roar as I speed off towards the man, who has stolen something from my house. It is not easy because I’m following him on a highway and it is night time; ultimately forcing me to be constantly on my guard.

    Suddenly the road lights dims and the man is lost in darkness. Damn. He can’t just go away like this; I will find him, no matter what. I have seen him sneaking out of my house and I can’t seem to find any other reasons for which he entered my house except that he is a thief.

    And then after a second the road lights flare brightly again. I see the man taking a sharp turn as he dodges the incoming vehicle. He then runs to the other side of the road, skimming through the vehicles like hot knife in butter.

    “s**t,” I spit out and like him take a sharp cut toward the other side of the road. The traffic is minimum and even I, a branded inexperienced person can skim through the incoming tolls of vehicles.



    Something hits me, forcefully. I hear the cracking of my knees and the snapping of bones and then the next thing I feel is my body being thrown up in the air; I feel like a basketball thrown in the air.

    Series of pain are piercing my body, dazzling my senses to obliviousness. Still I feel the wonderful feeling of air rippling through my hair; the gentle caressing of mind on my skin. I even feel the wonderful feeling of weightlessness; it feels like I’ve grown some wings.

    I don’t know for how much time I am in the air, but the pain seems to subside away slowly. And ultimately it fades away into inexistence.

    And then, I feel my body rushing downwards. It is even more enthralling and marvelous then the feeling of weightlessness. This must be the feeling bungee-jumpers must feel during their infamous jumps.


    My body finally comes to a halt. I pain pierces my skull. The pain it emanates is enough to make me cry hoarse. And I try too cry out loud too, but no voice escapes my lips; I’m not even sure if they escaped my vocal cords to start with. But after a split second, the pain dims and is ultimately lost in nothingness.

    But the pain has left its consequences. I can hear a faint rushing sound, like some sort of liquid is seeping out and I can also hear the sound of deep throbbing. My eyes are getting unfocused and the world around me, it seems to be spinning and swirling in midst of colours.

    Except those two mysterious sounds, all I hear is the buzzing of insects. From the distance, I can hear many other sounds, but I can’t classify them, but I’m sure there is someone or something.

    And then suddenly, with a flash of black, every feeling slowly leaves my body. My senses weaken and my body relaxes. My breathing starts to get very shallow, but I do not care.

    And when I feel like I’m at the brink of slipping into obliviousness, a sound proclaims in my head, very confidently

    “You are dying.”

    ‘No, I’m not.’ I try to say back, but my lips don’t even part.

    My body is weakening and the level of the confidence of the sound is increasing. So, I try to prove it wrong, but only thing I manage to achieve his wriggle around like a dying fish.

    And then my vision blackens and my hearing dims. And after a moment, I’m sucked into nothingness.


    I feel like something or someone is trying to pull me. The hold is very tight. I struggle to break free, but it is to no avail.

    And then the vicious hold loosens and then slowly frees from its grasp.

    Tentatively, I open my eyes. I’m somewhere in a forest. I stand up on my feet, and turn around; grasping my surroundings. I see the highway, just some meters up the small steep of ground.

    And then I suddenly remember that I was following a man, which was supposedly a thief. Then what am I doing here?

    And then suddenly, past events come rushing to me, playing in my mind like some sort of film reel.

    Peculiar. My condition is the most peculiar. I remember being hit by something and the death comment that had rolled in my head. It’s not that I’m not happy to find myself alive and whole, it’s just that it’s kind of disturbing, very disturbing.

    Maybe I dozed off again. Yeah, most probably I did. It’s one of my bad habits and because of it I get reprimanded quite often around a dozen times in a week. I smirk and mutter a curse as I look up in the sky.

    It’s night already. Of course, when I started following the thief it was night, but there were some traces of sun… Why am I taking my dream in consideration?

    I shake my head resignedly and prepare myself for a sprint to home. Because if I don’t manage to get home as early as I can, Christy will have my head. All I can hope is that I’m not mush late already.

    With these thoughts in my head, I look at my wristwatch, only to find it missing.

    Bloody hell, robbed again.

    It is the third time that someone has robbed me while I was asleep. Of course, Christy robbed me the first two times, emptying my wallet in the process. But it doesn’t exclude the two events from the thieving label, because they were done without notifying me. And so, I consider it robbing.

    But today, I’m robbed for real. And the dreaded fact is that that the watch was my birthday gift from Christy.

    I gulp, trying to find a few valid reasons to enjoy my last moments on the face of earth, for I’m sure, Christy is going to kill me, inhumanly as soon as she will know what have happened to her present.

    No use in trying to forestall the inevitable. I chant the line again and again in my mind, trying to draw out some strength from it. And no to mention, it is to no avail.

    But bracing myself, I take a step towards the highway, all the while my body and mind whizzing uncontrollably in anticipation of the upcoming events and my oncoming unfortunate demise.

    Maybe the dream was after all a premonition. Yes, it surely was a premonition; an indication to me by God that I should rejoice the moments that I’ve on earth because my death is approaching. And yet I wasted them sleeping. I can very well picture the news on front page of tomorrow’s newspaper, “A Girlfriend kills a Boyfriend, mercilessly!”

    Only a miracle can save me now.

    And then without missing a beat and like a miracle, an idea which I’ve forgotten during all this tension pops in my head. I halt my progress and take a deep soothing breath. Maybe the dream was not a premonition after all; maybe it was just a random thought. Yeah, most probably.

    Today the ring is going to save me; it will be my saviour today. Of course, it’s not a random event, it was completely planned, and I just messed up the timings a little by sleeping here. Otherwise anything other than this couldn’t go wrong, ore I’m planning this from over a month and today is the day it is supposed to come in action.

    But see my luck. Anyway I should hurry home, otherwise any chances of contacting Christy will be cut-off and the probability of Christy butchering me without giving me a chance to explain my part will increase, drastically.

    But I suddenly stop and turn around. I have a feeling that my movements are being closely watches. Still I find no one around; the forest around me as calm as anyone would have anticipated.

    I shake my head smiling, rebuking myself on my overly suspicious nature. There is no one and who will be here except some animals. I push my hand in my pocket, but there is just one snag. There is no pocket. I whip my head to look at my body. My progress freezes as I stare at my naked body in horror.

    I shiver from head to toe, as shock waves plummet through my body. It was a sheer foolishness on my part to think that the robber would have left the diamond ring with me, but even my clothes! That’s utterly disturbing and inhumanly. I know, thieving is a sin too, but stealing someone’s clothes, not even leaving the person’s boxer; that’s for me is the act of the greatest evil. And anyway, how dare they?

    No, no, no… I quickly fend off those thoughts. Because at the present moment, I shouldn’t worry about them, I should worry about myself. I would never do something much bad to the thieves, but what Christy will do to me, not even God knows. I can hear the distinctive sound of an enraged Christy, shouting at me on my foolishness and threatening to leave me, if I don’t become an ideal boyfriend soon.

    And the more pressing question is, how should I go home? Maybe I should snap some branches and use them as possible clothing, much like Tarzan. It is the only option I have, though I suspect Christy won’t like the idea.

    I bow my head in defeat, my mind in an overdrive trying to find a reason, a good excuse which could persuade her.

    Man, how much worse this day can go. I’m already fated to be a dead man in matter of hours.

    “You’re a dead man,” comes a voice, rushing to my ears, cutting across the deadly silence that has surrounded me.

    Did I spoke the words aloud?

    “Who…” I stutter out, growing conscious of my naked body and fear of facing rogue, “Who a—are you?”

    “No need to fear me,” the voice comes again and I can hear it getting closer and closer by every passing second, Still there is no sound of footfall nor the sound of crunching of twigs and dried leaves. It must be a very maintained part of the jungle, something like a jungle park.


    I hear someone laughing and it gives me the impression that the person knows everything which I have thought in the past moments or maybe I spoke them up even without noticing.

    His laughter doesn’t stop and it gives me an eerie feeling. So, I shout in the general direction from where the voices seem to be coming, “And what you’re? Immortal!?”

    “As a matter of fact, I’m,” the voice replies, calmly.

    I scoff, squinting my eyes, trying to get a look of the man. But the darkness surrounding the forest is preventing me from seeing his face.

    Some seconds passed in silence. Man, he wants slower than an ant.

    Finally the man steps in my line of vision. He is a man of built and complexion. He has long black hairs and he has an air of elegance and superiority around him. If I have met him under circumstances, thief would have been the last word to come in my mind. But today, circumstances around me are everything but normal.

    “Ah…” the mysterious says, “we finally meet.”

    I gulp; he is sounding as rendezvous this place. I have a feeling, I’m not going to like the coming moments of this conversation.

    “I think I should go.” I mutter the first thing which comes to my mind without giving it second thoughts.

    The man in response to this laughs. His laugh sends chill down my spine.

    “And where to?” he asks me mockingly, when he managed to stop his laughter.

    “Listen mate,” I say to him, my obvious embarrassment fueling my anger, “I don’t know and care who the hell you are. But if you don’t shut that trap of yours, I’ll be glad to do it for you.” I finish more confidently than I’m actually feeling.

    At this, the man merely raises an eyebrow in amusement, behaving as he knows what exactly I’m feeling inside.

    And then, his brown eyes look directly in mine. I feel like he is seeing my soul through them. I shudder at the thought and shake my head a little, all the while trying to break the eye contact. But the intensity of his gaze is such that I can’t pull away.

    I sigh and say to him, “What do you need?”

    “You,” he answers, matter-of-factly.

    My eyes widen in surprise and my mouth hangs open. To me and my eyes, he doesn’t look a gay, but eyes can be deceived and this is the proof.

    “Now man listen,” I say, trying to cover the vital parts of my body, “I’m not that type. I know I’m nude and all that, but I was robbed…”

    “Robbed?” The man asks me, his eyes widening in disbelief.

    “Yes,” I reply, completely exasperated, “Or maybe better, you will like to tell me what exactly happened to me.”

    “My pleasure,” he says, “You’re dead.”

    “Yeah, yeah,” I say, laughing, “I’m dead.”


    I shout at him as realisation of what he said dawns upon me. At this, he merely chuckles.

    “Yes dead. Took you long enough to realise such a simple fact.”

    “Are you out of your mind or what?” I shout at him, ignoring his babbling completely, “You’re dead” — I try to imitate his voice — “For God sake, do I look dead to you. I suppose not.” I finish glaring at him.

    “Believe it or not,” he says, “You’re dead.”

    I continue to glare at him, not finding or seeing any need to answer to his lunatic gibbering.

    “Don’t you wonder,” he says, when I don’t continue our ‘conversation’, “why you are nude?”

    “How many times should I tell you. BECAUSE I GOT ROBBED,” I say, without missing a beat.

    “Then you’re the dumbest human soul I have ever seen,” he says, scathingly. “And mind me, I have seen many.”

    “And you’re the freakiest person I have ever seen,” I shot back at him. But my need to insult him doesn’t quite subside at this. But before I could add some more pleasantries in our conversation, he speaks up.

    “Turn to your left and walk some 100 steps,” he says idly, leaning against a tree.

    I glare once more and turn to my left. I start walking in that direction, keeping the toll of my steps in my mind. As I near that place, I recognise it as the place where I awoke after my uneventful sleep. And there was nothing then, so how come my supposedly dead body is there.

    I smile halting my progress and look down on the ground. There is nothing, absolutely nothing as I predicted.

    I turn back and find him beside me, leaned against a tree. How he walked all the way here without making a sound is a mystery to me.

    “See,” I say, victory evident in my voice, “There is nothing, absolutely nothing.“

    “Yes,” he agrees, “there is nothing because I said, walk 100 steps in left direction, and when I said left I meant left, not some derivative direction.”

    “Hey,” I protest, “I walked in left direction.”

    “Then,” he says, “your sense of direction is worse than of a child.” He finishes and points me towards a point somewhere on my right hand side.

    I snarl, turn around and walk toward the pointed spot. There amidst some glittering liquid, lay a body whose limbs are twisted at odd angles. I pity the dead man and I pity the way he died more, for I’m sure he must have gone through varying degrees of pain.

    When I come close to the body, I look down, squinting my eyes for better view in the dark.

    But even after some moments of focused observation, I’m as clueless as ever about the identity of the dead body. The face is smashed very badly, I suspect half of the skull is either cracked or is crushed. Each of the man’s bone edge and nerves are visible on his skin, it seems to me that he has lost around 3 to 4 liters of blood.

    Still there is nothing that can prove that the dead body is mine, heck, it is not even possible to start from because I’m standing here alive and made from flesh, blood and bone, not from some kind of condensed energy.

    I turn to him and before I can say anything, h points at a point on the ground. He is again behaving as he is able to read my mind like a book. The thought sends shiver down my spine.

    I again turn back and look at the pointed direction, only to found a square box. It is glittering, giving the impression that it is covered in some sort of shining material.

    I gulp, dreading the coming moments. I bent down on my knees and stretch my hand slowly towards the box. But somehow miraculously not even a sweat drop appears on my skin. It is most peculiar, because I normally sweat like hell in these types of situations.

    I shake my head, trying to fend off the coming onslaught of thoughts. I won’t think like this, I won’t.

    And what felt like after many hours, my fingertips touch the rim of the box and I release a huff of breath I didn’t know I was holding. I make to grab the box, but my fingertips pass right through it.

    I panic, shaking my head like a maniac. I jump to my feet and wheel around at full speed. I all but rush to the man and looking directly into his eyes, snarl,

    “Stop this freaky show, now,” I spit, “It is more than enough already.”

    “Freaky show?” he says, sounding amused, “so what will you call the proofs you have given yourself?”

    “You… you —” I stutter out, my body shaking with anger, “You are bloody using some kind of high definition 3D graphic technology.”

    “Does that even exist?” he asks me, mockingly.

    The tone of his voice breaks the dam of control inside me. I grab him by his collar and force him into a nearby tree, all the while my knuckles trying to crush his windpipe. But he merely looks at me, looking bored and slightly irritated.

    “Happy?” he asks me, pushing me away.

    “No,” I say and aim a punch at his face. He easily blocks it and holds my fist in a crushing grip.

    “Now listen fool,” he says, seriously, “You’re dead,” — He starts pulling me in a direction — “I will give you live demonstration.”

    With that, he shoves my head in a tree trunk, but my head merely glides out of it. He then aims a punch at my face, but his hand too glides out of my skull.

    “I think it is more than enough proof,” he says, loosening his hold.

    But it doesn’t matter, I’m dead.

    These three words have changed my life or rather they have changed me. I never thought that three words could have changed me so much, but apparently they have.

    I slump to my knees, crying but no tear escapes my eyes.

    “No,” I shout at him, more loudly than I intended to, “I’m not dead.”

    “Fool,” he spits, the exasperation in his voice clear, “Don’t you get such a simple fact.”

    “You’re bloody saying that I’m dead,” I say, jumping to my feet, “Do you think that it is a simple fact!?”

    “As a matter of fact, I do think that and believe it,” he says, a little calmly than before, “Every being which is born in the world is destined to death.”

    “Yes,” I say, “but when he has lived his life. And as for me, I’m just 18 year old lad, who lives with his girlfriend. I hardly think I’ve lived my life.”

    “Likely story,” he says, calmly. His calm persona is getting over my head.

    “Check your breath,” he says after a short pause.

    I feel like I should hit my head. Of course if I’m alive, I will be breathing.

    “And hey,” the man says, “if you exhale try to exhale loudly and forcefully as you can. Okay?”

    I nod my head and bring my palm directly below my nostrils. After a brief span of summoning of strength, I exhale forcefully. But only sound precedes my action, no gust of warm wind comes out.

    Not believing it, I exhale again and again and again… all the while consoling myself that it’s just the excitement I’m feeling of proving him wrong that is blocking the exhalation from my nostrils.

    “Check your heartbeat,” the man says, again behaving as he has read me like an open book.

    Yes, how can I be such a fool! Of course there’s no way my heart will turn back from me; it will surely be beating. Tentatively, I press my hand on my heart. I can feel anticipation, dread, happiness, pain, resentment, fear and many other dreaded feeling bubbling inside me. At last, I press my hand on my heart.

    … … … …

    Time continues to pass, but there is no rise and fall of my chest, nor there is the rhythmic lub dub of my heart. I concentrate with my full might, pressing my hand in my chest, hard. But there’s no sound, no sign that can prove that I’m still alive.

    But I refuse to believe so; I can’t die at such small age. So, in retrospect of my actions, I check my pulse, hoping to feel the blood rushing through them.

    There is none.

    And now the three words ‘I am dead,’ engraves in my mind. every reincarnation of those three formidable words feels like a blow of a jackhammer on my mind, if I still have one, that is.

    My hopes, my dreams, my life; these words are now very alien to me. Ah… how fate takes its twist.

    “Now, if you are over wallowing in self pity, self resentment and God knows what else,” the man says, sounding exasperated, “Can we go? I have to leave an important meeting to take you and you are standing here like a dummy, wasting my precious time.”

    “And why would you leave an important meeting for me?” I ask him, “Are you the only one who manages the export and import of human souls?”

    “EXPORT AND IMPORT!!!!???????” the man shouts, “It’s not a business or something like that. And anyway you should be thankful that people like me are there to guide souls, especially your types.”

    “My types?” I ask him, raising an eyebrow. Somehow talking with him is reducing my grief.

    “Yes, your types,” he say, “You know, the clueless, daft type.”

    I huff angrily.

    “I’m in any case better than you,” I say and he raises an eyebrow, looking amused, “I don’t have to grind my arse around the world, trying to find souls to guide.”

    “You will mind your language,” he says, seriously and continues in a lighter tone, “And who says I am the one who goes around the world, guiding souls. I’m their leader and I don’t go around the world…”

    “Like Yamraj?” I ask, cutting him off.

    “Yes,” he says, “and I only come to guide the hopeless of the hopeless cases, just like you.”

    “I’m not a hopeless case,” I protest.

    “Oh yes, you are,” the man says, smirking.

    “And how can you say that?” I shot back in return, “I have always been one of the most independent people…”

    “Maybe you were,” he says, shrugging, “but now you are not a person anymore. You are a body-less soul.”

    “So what?” I cut him off again, “Isn’t the soul supposed to be one of the entities that gives a person his personality.”

    “Yes it is,” he says, “but the moment a soul leaves a body, it undergoes varying degree of changes. Some souls belonging to bad people can turn out good and vice versa.”

    Deadly silence surrounds us. The man seems to be lost in some deep thinking for his eyes have a faraway look.

    “Now,” he says, suddenly, “If you are ready, can we go? I’m required in the council and it is being delayed because of a sole reason, you.”

    I feel a sense of accomplishment at this. Finally, a chance to have an upper hand on him.

    “Nah,” I say, rejoicing sensing his displeasure, “I have many things to which I need answer for?”

    “What!?” he shots at me, sharply.

    “Like why didn’t your minions come to take me in the first place? Then you wouldn’t have to go through this,” I say to him, mockingly.

    “They came,” he says, “you just didn’t want to believe that you are dead and leave your body.”

    “That’s utterly wrong,” I reply sharply.

    “Didn’t you felt someone pulling you, when you first woke-up?” he asks me.

    “Yup, I did,” I say, remembering the unpleasant feeling.

    “”That was the time, my men were on work,” he says.

    “You use that kind of barbaric method,” I scoff, “Preposterous.”

    “It was nothing I comparison to what we were allowed to use some years ago,” he grumbles, “Before people like you were treated well, but now I have to come to take away people like you…”

    “Anyway…” I say, not knowing what to say next. Silence surrounds us again. My eyes fell on my dead body and a question pops up in my mind.

    “Why hasn’t anyone come to find me?” I ask to nobody in particular, “After all I was hit in a middle of a busy, well lit road.”

    “Do you need to know everything right here and now?” he asks me, fuming.

    “Yes,” I reply cheerfully.

    He mutters something darkly and says, “They are searching for you on the other side. But as we know they won’t anything there.”

    “Yeah,” I say, pitying my dead body. I will not get a proper funeral. Ah… my death.

    “Now if my highness is satisfied,” he says, sounding and looking exasperated, “Can we go?”

    “As a matter of fact,” I say, thinking. Actually, I don’t want to go, because I know I will miss many things here.

    “I don’t want to go,” I say to him, seriously.

    His face flushes red with anger as he hisses,

    “So you just want to be a wandering soul,” he says to me, “A soul without no motive and reason for its existence.”

    The words he said and the tone he used, it made it sound terrible than I have thought. I don’t want to be a wandering soul, no never.

    “I don’t want to be,” I say, “I just have some task, some wishes which I want to complete before I go away.”

    “Don’t we all,” he replies a little softly, “But if I started to wait for every soul to finish his or her wishes, I will be not controlling the flow of heaven and hell, I will be controlling the soul count on earth.”

    “But I want them done,” I whimper, “Ah… maybe you can. After all you are a God.”

    “I’m not a God,” he replies, and I give him a dirty look, “Okay, but only kind of half. I don’t have that much power. And anyway why should I help you? All you have done from the moment we have met, is irk me. You should be happy that I didn’t subject you to hell.”

    “Leave it now, okay,” I say to him, “And if you don’t help me, I won’t go with you.”

    “Suit yourself,” he says plainly.

    “What!?” I ask him, “You are going to leave a newbie soul here, all alone? What if something happened to me? Don’t you have any sense of responsibility at all?”

    “Nothing is going to happen it you,” he says, dryly, “And it’s not that I’m forcing you to be here. You are doing this on your sole wish, so you are the only one who will be responsible for the outcomes.”

    “Can’t you help me, please?” I say to him, pleadingly, knowing that any other way is futile in front of him.

    “No, I can’t do that,” he says to me.

    Suddenly a memory flares in the alleyway of my mind. A memory of a film I once saw, involving a pact between devil and a man. Maybe, I can do that.


    I stop myself. Are my wishes worth the trouble? Are they a sane reason for selling my soul? But a single sweep over them, and I know they are worth the trouble.

    “Isn’t there an other way?” I ask him, tentatively.

    “What do you mean?” he asks me back, not reading my mind this time. Fishy.

    “I mean like” — I summon all of my will power — “like… a pact with the devil.”

    “WHAT!?” he spits out, “Are you in your mind or what? And do you think I’m the messenger of devil or something?”

    “No, no, no,” I say, hastily, “I don’t mean that. Of course you are not a messenger of devil. And I asked you about that because you are point blankly refusing to help me.” I finish with an accusatory tone.

    “Don’t put the blame on me,” he says, “And are you that serious about the things which you weren’t able to complete in your human life.”

    “Yes, I’m,” I reply.

    “How many things have you left undone?” he asks me, again.

    “Around…” I say, counting the things in my head, “hum… seven. Yeah, seven.”

    “Forget it,” he says plainly, “Not one, not two, not three, but seven. That’s impossible.”

    “But there should be a way,” I say to him, pleadingly.

    He opens his mouth and from the looks of it, he is about to reply scathingly. But then he closes his mouth again and closes his eyes, apparently looking very deep in thinking.

    Minutes passed, but he remained unmoving, still like a statue. I’m growing very conscious with the passing moments, what the hell does he think he is doing?

    And then as suddenly he went into his trance, he comes out of it.

    “So,” he starts, “do you still want to complete your seven wishes?”

    “Yes, of course,” I reply at once, feeling hope rising in my chest.

    “Okay, I have discussed a way with the others,” he says, seriously, “But it will require a commitment on your part.”

    “Of course,” I say.

    “First listen to what you are supposed to do and then say of course,” he says, “You’ll have to work for us, while you’ll be here.”

    “Okay,” I say to him, not understanding the context of what he is saying.

    “You’ll look for anything that looks suspicious and unearthly,” he says, “and you’ll then report it to me.”

    “Okay,” I say, “but what will I get in return?”

    “Seven days of life,” he says, “One day for each of your wish. But you have to do our work too and if you do it well, maybe I will give you your life back.”

    “Is it so?” I ask him, excitedly.

    “Yes,” he says, “but remember if you don’t do my task you’ll be liable to spend the next thousand years of your life in hell…”

    “I accept,” I say, “I accept.”

    “First think over it,” he says to me.

    “I have,” I say.

    “So, I’ll be restoring you in your body,” he says and motions me to come near my dead body.

    “But how are you going to revive me?” I ask him, looking at my body, “So, much injuries and blood loss.”

    “Leave it to me,” he says and motions me to step in my body. I do as I’m told.

    He start chanting some kind of incantation. The world around me glows yellow and with a blinding flash, I’m sucked somewhere, some place unknown.

    After a horrid moment, my body feels stable again. I open my eyes and look around. I see the wide black purple canopy, lighted with stars. So, I’m lying on the ground.

    And then my past conversation with the Soul Guardian replays in my head. I look at my body, trying to find any mark of bruise. There are none. I look around me, hoping to see my head floating in blood. It is not.

    Maybe all of it was a dream. Yes, a dream.

    “Deviating from your goal already,” a voice booms in my head.

    “Who are you?” I shout loudly, looking around.

    “Don’t behave as a daft and listen to me,” the voice in my head says, “You are to report to me, if you see anything suspicious and unearthly.”

    “But how can I do that?” I say to him, “I am just an ordinary human being now.”

    “No, you are not,” the voice in my head says, “You still possess the powers you possessed when you were just a soul.”

    “I was just joking,” I say to him, “But do souls really have power?”

    “Yes they have,” he says.

    “So what are mine?” I ask him.

    “It depends on the individual,” he answers back, dryly, “And I’m not going to tell you. Find them out yourself. And whenever you need to call me, just concentrate on me.”

    “Don’t you think concentrating on a name will be easier?” I ask him.

    “No, I don’t think so,” he says to me, “And now go.”

    With that every trace of sound vanishes from my head. I still can’t believe it. Superpower and me? I feel like superman. I do some silly pose as I stand up. And then I slump to my knees. I was better dead; what was I thinking when I ask to be revived again. Christy is going to kill me, for being late, very late. Maybe I can tell her, yes I will tell her and show her my new awesome power. Then maybe she will believe me.

    “You’re not going to tell anyone who you are and what power you have,” the voice suddenly booms in my head again. My only resort of survival gone.

    I shove my hand in my pockets, pitying myself. My hand brushes against a square box and I smile. Maybe I will live.

    I hope you will let me know, what do you think about the story.

    Bye and please reply..