I was somewhat normal once. Until I died. It was only for a few minutes, but ever since then, I can see ghosts. The first time I see her is in the cemetery, wearing a blood stained wedding dress. No one else knows she exists. I have no idea how to help her or why I chose to, but she’s here now. The one person who makes me feel alive for the first time in ages
is a spirit trapped in her own version of hell with no recollection of her life or death.
Finding Mr. Wrong
Here’s a tip: never trust a jackass in preppy clothing. The phrase “trust me” should have been my first clue to hightail it out the door, but hindsight is always 20/20. So there I was, on a stage with two other men, being asked ridiculous questions by a woman I couldn’t see, but whose voice made my pants tighten―and not around my ankles.