I've heard that dying isn't painful... that is, if you go quickly. I wasn't so lucky. I got to enjoy a slow, painful death. I guess that bear didn't want me so close to his cave. Or maybe he was rabid. Or maybe he just didn't like me. It wouldn't be the first time someone (or something) didn't like me. You know how some people have a way with children, or animals, or babies, or whatever? Well, I was the exact opposite of all of those people put together. Babies cried when I got close. My pet cat, Twinkie, (why did I even get a cat?) hated me... Like, hated me. She clawed at my legs whenever I walked by. She yowled all night, every night, keeping me awake for hours at a time. Anyway, I was mauled to death. By a bear. After I died, I could see my body lying on the ground, my clothes ripped and bloody. It was like a dream... a really weird dream. I floated upward, and then around. Above the treetops, until I reached the town where I lived. I guess I was invisible then, because when I rung the doorbell, my dad stepped out of the doorway, looked around for a minute, and stomped back inside, muttering "Darn kids..." I realized that I had been shut out of my own house, at dinner time! So, I concentrated really hard on making myself visible, walked through the door, and headed for the kitchen. I could do one of two things here. First, I could explain to my family that I was dead and my ghost was still haunting this world. Or, I could pretend that I was in fact still alive. The only problem was that I didn't know if my family knew that I was dead yet. That was when I heard my mom from inside the kitchen, "I wonder when Stan is getting home?" "Hi, everyone!" I called, hoping that I wasn't a mute ghost.