Murder is a beautiful thing. Someone’s mind has been clouded with the thoughts of somebody’s life ending in front of them. My murder was quick and unexpected. At least I think it was quick. I was stuck in my mind for what felt like an eternity, but I felt no pain. I’m just assuming my soul was having a hard time leaving my body.

I’m not at peace. My murderer made it look like a suicide. They even left a fake note on my computer. It’s been a month, and my family has still not stopped trying to figure out why I did it. You see, they saw me as a relatively happy, outgoing 20 year old girl. And that was true. I had some trouble with depression in my youth, but I have overcome that and I was happy in my place in the world.

The hardest person to watch deal with my death has been my fiance. Our wedding was ten months away, and we were obsessed with each other. He was truly the most incredible man I had ever met. He blames himself for not seeing the signs, but there were no signs to see. It breaks my heart to see his heart broken, but there isn’t much I can do. My murderer did everything in his power to make sure he wouldn’t be found out, and that is exactly what I plan to ruin.

I’m not a ghost or a spirit. Living people can’t see, feel, or hear me, and I don’t get to chose what I’m allowed to see of the living world. I don’t just float around watching whoever I want. I pop in and out of my world and theirs. My world is dark and gloomy. Everyone here is unhappy and trying to get revenge for their deaths. They’re all friendly to each other though. It’s like we’re all in the same afterlife, the murdered. We were all killed in some way, and none of us are at peace. It’s not heaven, it’s hell. Everyone here is tortured and filled with hate towards everything and everyone outside of our world.

Many of us we call the “older dead.” They’re not always physically older, we stop aging after death, but they’re the ones that have been dead the longest. They haven’t found peace yet. A lot of them have learned how to control their transition into the living world, and some can even haunt the living. Those skills are very hard to channel. Some of these people have been dead for centuries, forever stuck here because their soul was never put to rest. They never found their murderer in the living world. Or they killed themselves.

Those people scare me the most. Those old souls that have watched their loved ones grow old. They have no hope for themselves, and I’m worried I will become like them. Nobody knows I was killed, so how could I ever be at peace?

It’s only been a month and I’m already becoming more and more depressed, more than I ever was when I was alive. If I’m already losing my mind after one month, what is it exactly that goes through the older one’s minds? What will I become?

The worst ones to watch are the children. They don’t understand why and nobody can help them. They know their dead and they don’t have anything or anyone to help them through it. The old children can haunt, and that is a horrible thought. There is so much pain in a little kids mind that they can channel it into torturing the living.

I’m having a hard time accepting my death. I am aware that I am dead, I don’t pretend that I’m not. I just don’t fully understand why it happened, or even who did it. The longer I’m dead, the sadder I get and the less I remember about the murder. The man, I remember a torso, so I know it was a man, carried me into a building after, I’m assuming, drugging me. I don’t remember many details anymore, and that is torturing me. The only thing I remember vividly was the smell of the man. I can’t place it, but he was wearing very strong cologne that I didn’t recognize. I know if I could smell it again I would be able to remember more about the man.

I need to find a way to communicate with my family. That is the only possible way I can get through to them that I was murdered and that they need to look for the murderer. Standing around has done nothing for me, so I’ve been turning to others for help. You would think that dead people would be willing to help me, but they are not.