I got out of bed and went to talk to my wife. No matter what I said to her, she wouldn't answer me. She looked so depressed all the time, always sitting in her bathrobe eating peanut butter from the jar. I started to think something was seriously wrong after this went on for two months. By the time the third month rolled around she started going to work again, but she still wouldn't talk to me. I had never had a job, so I spent my days watching TV or reading the paper. I would be sitting in the living room watching TV and she would come in and turn the television off. Then she would look at the chair I always sat in, but it felt like she was staring right through me.
One day the door bell rang and she opened it to find news reporters. I listened to them interviewing her. She was talking about how she thought her house was haunted. She said that she heard the stairs creak every morning but no one was there. She said she would come home from work to fine the TV on, but no one in the house. I was starting to think she was crazy. Then they asked her how long this had been going on for. She said since her husband's death. Now I knew she was crazy.
A few weeks later I saw a report in the paper about her story. It included a bit about me, since I was her husband. It said I had been shot in the head five years earlier. I didn't understand. What was going on? I felt real.
I knew I had to find out the truth and the only way I could think of was to kill myself and see if I died. So, that afternoon I walked to the bridge. I sat there for hours, thinking about everything in my life, if one could even call it that. Finally I stood on the edge, and let go. I was flying through the air but I felt exactly the same. When I hit the road beneath me I was perfectly fine. No broken bones, not even a scratch. That's when I knew I was dead.
I went home and sat on the couch, thinking about what to do. I wrote my wife a letter saying goodbye. I told her I loved her even after death. I stuck it under the books on the bedside table, hoping she would find it when she needed it. I knew that if I stayed at my house, it wouldn't do my wife or I any good.
So, I packed a small bag of necessities and went for a walk. I'm still walking, and that's the nice thing about being dead - your legs never get tired.