Nearly - so close but yet

So there we are, on the ferry. His family cabaret deal with the ferryman seems to have held - they exchange contact details so that he can set it up for later- and after a little while we're on the opposite bank. Because we're going the opposite way out, you have to push through the crowds of people waiting to go in, who all seem to be saying that they thought the road only went one way, and they do have a point, I suppose. But if you ignore the one-way and no entry signs, and start walking uphill, you can just about catch a glimpse of something real, something that ripples on the walls and shimmers - daylight, sunshine, the real world, a place dead people don't live ( yes I know that doesn't make sense as a phrase, but you know what I mean) and that's where I want to get back to - I don't belong down here at all. He's walking about four or five steps ahead of me, facing the front, making it very obvious that he's not looking any way but ahead. One problem for me - seeing as how I haven't actually got my body back yet, I'm kind of taking it on trust that I will look the same as I did before I died - not after that post-mortem - there would be really visible scars that just wouldn't look right up there. Then there's the question of what I'm wearing. When I asked, they said it was the clothes you wore at your funeral, but these things I've got on my feet don't feel like Jimmy Choos at all - I'd better have them on when I do finally get up there or someone's going to pay big style. Same with the hairstyle and makeup. I hated how I looked at my funeral, so I asked about it and they said I could request a specialist pre-return to life session to get those bits right. Let's just hope they did - I certainly wouldn't want to re-enter the world of the living looking like a hag or worse. You're probably wondering who I asked - it wasn't the Guardians of Death, it was a little organisation called "Getting Your LIfe Back" - they don't have many clients, about one every thousand years they reckon, so it's probably a good job that they're dead - they wouldn't live long enough to do more than one client otherwise. If you'll pardon me, a real dead-end job, waiting all that time for someone to show up and then after a couple of sessions, its all done and dusted. So you can see what my priorities are - I want to be drop-dead gorgeous when I get back up there- and there are a few people I wouldn't mind seeing drop dead when I get back there. I won't give you any clues, but you probably get my drift....is it that obvious ? So there we are, half way up the slope, that glow getting a bit brighter all the time and I can feel my body coming back - just a bit at a time. It's kind of hard to describe - one minute you can't feel anything, the next there's a sort of pins and needles tingle starting deep inside and you know it's working. When I move my arm, I can feel the air - so I reach up and touch my own face and I can feel something - this is really amazing. It's the best feeling I think I've ever had - bar none - well, coming back from the dead must kind of overshadow most experiences, mustn't it ? I look down and I can see my own feet and the shoes start feeling like the real thing - and they look right too. He's walking just ahead of me, keeping his eyes straight ahead, and he's ignoring all the noises behind him - the roars of demons, the screeches of harpies - and not looking back to check that I'm OK at all. We're getting even closer now, and I can feel the breeze on my face and in my hair, and the sunlight's beginning to feel warm too. Not much further now and I'm back. Then it happens. The nightmare. The end of all my hopes. The bastards. Them and him down here. I've just gone past this rock on the right hand side of the tunnel when there's this horrible whining, buzzing sound. I have a horrible feeling that I know what it is - and what's worse, who put them there. I can't prove it, but I don't honestly think wasps would normally make a nest in the tunnel that leads to the underworld. At least, not off their own bat, that is - someone must have put them up to it. Can't think who that could be - other than someone who knows a lot about me and what I hate ! So as he goes past, a couple of them fly out and whizz round his head a few times. He tries to whack them with his hands, to knock them out of the way, but he misses. Don't know whether they sting him or not, he carries on regardless. So far, so good. But then it's my turn - only it's not a couple, it's the whole f****ing nest of them. They come out of there like an express train and within seconds they're in my hair, all over my face, on my arms - you name it, they're there. I'm trying my hardest not to freak out, because, as you know, I hate them so much - so I'm trying not to yell and scream and attract attention - trying not to give him any reason to turn and look back. Please don't let that happen, please- I can hear myself saying it - we're so close now It wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't got most of my body and my feelings back - they wouldn't be able to touch me, or, if they did, I wouldn't notice, but I'm nearly all together again. So when one of them stings me, I can feel it. It hurts. Then when the other fifty or so all sting me at once, I don't really have any choice - I scream really loud. "Ow, Get away from me" And that's when it happened. Like a slow-motion replay, you could see the scream register- he froze, paused, then, an inch at a time, you could see his head turn to look - I was fighting with the wasps too, so I didn't have the chance to shout to him not to do it, but when I did it was hopeless - he just kep turning and then I could see his eyes and I knew it was too late. All over. Finished. The gentle breeze I could feel on my skin, the breeze that had promised so much, suddenly turned into a hurricane and blew me back down the tunnel so fast my feet didn't touch the ground until I was across the river. The light, that glow from the world above the ground, that hope for a future, grew ragged and turned into grey and black shadows, shrieking and wailing on the wind as it span into a web of darkness. All I could remember was the look on his face as I disappeared - he looked so lost, so beaten, so despairing, in fact he looked the same as quite a few of the people down here - the really dead ones, that is. And then there was blackness, just like the first time, only this time it felt like a relief, like it was all over, like it was time to give up and be dead. That's it. the end Well maybe