I've always wondered what it would be like if I died.
Would people cry? Would I be missed? How would it happen? Would there be a bunch of people stood at my deathbed as I slipped away in my sleep, or would I die alone, nobody left to grieve me; nobody there to remember my name when I'm gone?
It's as if I can picture it in front of me- like I'm standing amongst the scene playing out in my head.
I'm stood in an enclosed graveyard in a forest-like area- my local graveyard. I'm surrounded by crowds of people. It is drizzling with rain, which seems rather fitting to the occasion. A cameraman stands holding a large news camera and a microphone, filming and interviewing certain groups of people.
Currently, a woman stands in front of the camera in solemnity, dressed in a black coat. She sobs into the microphone. There are large bags under her eyes from sleepless nights of crying, and her brown bob is slicked back into a short ponytail. I recognize this as my own mother.
"He was just so sweet, and- and- we all just miss him so, so much-" That's all she can say before she is swept away by a flood of tears.
Behind the camera are my peers- people from my school who I've never even interacted with before stand scattered around the small, enclosed forest in huddles, everyone dressed in shades of black and grey.
This is my funeral.
I can hear the cries of my classmates surrounding me. My attention is drawn to a boy with long, jet-black hair and teal roots, on his knees at my headstone, sobbing into his hands. I can't seem to get a good look at his face, but I feel a certain familiarity around him. He seems distraught.
A few of the girls from my music class stand in front of the camera, shaky and tearful. One of them leans into the microphone, "I- I wish we could have had the chance to get to know him better... He- he seemed so charismatic, full of life, y-you know?"
The other girl nods, "We'll just miss him. We all will." She says.
Flowers are tied to the fences surrounding the graveyard in commemoration of me. This shit is fucking dark.
I can almost feel the stomachs of my classmates dropping as it was announced over the school intercom that I was dead. The refusals of the teachers to give an answer as to how I had died. The looks on everyone’s faces. It sends shivers down my spine.
Slowly, the crowds begin to die out. I see my mother leaving with a group of girls from my school. She thanks them for their kindness in turning up to my funeral, and hopes they're alright. I've never met them before.
Soon, everyone has cleared out. All but one person.
The boy with the teal roots, who remains weeping at my headstone.
I look up. I'm sat in a dull, grey classroom. My 'alternative' English class, to be precise. Mr White stands at the front of the room, pacing back and forth, going over the register.
There are only five other people in my class. This is because the school assumed we were having some sort of 'difficulty' with English, and put us in this shithole. I'm not having difficulty. I just think. I think a lot. I think so much that I get entangled in my thoughts; lost beyond my control until the bell indicates that I have to leave the classroom. It's the reason I'm failing at everything. I can't help it.
Once I figure out when and how I will inevitably die, maybe I'll pick my grades up. But not for now. I like it in my thoughts.
"Frank Iero anyone?" He looks around the room as if he can't see me. I'm glad Mr White is pretty much ancient- it means that I don't have to get shit done until the last minute.
"Yeah, here sir."