Molly’s Day

I think you ought to know- Molly was feeling very depressed that day.

In fact, you could say Molly was feeling so downright bereft that she wanted to throw herself in front of a bus.

I mean, it’d been a hell of a day- she’d gotten fired from her job in the service industry because her bus had been late that day for the twelfth time since she’d begun a month ago. She’d been in a rush to get out of the house that morning, and so hadn’t had time to shower- she had crust in the corners of her eyes she hadn’t had time to dispose of, and had had to find a way to simultaneously brush her teeth and drink her coffee at the same time. Of course, such radical endeavours are frowned upon by the stringent laws of the universe, which had seen fit that most of her coffee had gone straight down the front of her favourite white button-down top that her recently deceased mother had bought her for her birthday. She had still had to rush to the bus stop, flustered and trying to cover the stains with her jacket, only to find that the bus was nearly an hour late.

When it had arrived, she was furious at the driver and yet looked into his eyes and could not bring herself to say any of the hurtful words that she’d prepared during that tedious hour of waiting. She didn’t want anyone to be hurt the way she had been a few days earlier, when her fiancé of four years had revealed he’d been having an affair for the last five (Molly didn’t want to do the math there). Then, when she finally had gotten into work, her boss had yelled at her in front of co-workers and customers alike. Then he’d fired her.

So yes, she felt rather justified that day in feeling a little bit blue. She wished she’d yelled back at her boss. She wished she’d yelled at the bus driver. She wanted to go to Rob’s house where he was staying with the other woman and break their new flat screen.

However, such things hardly take place in the life of a quiet girl like Molly. I think that’s probably why she was so busy thinking about them that as she crossed the road she didn’t see the bus coming. An easy mistake to make, if you think about the kind of day she’d been having.

The paramedics pronounced her dead at the scene; something Molly never quite agreed with, even from her new vantage point outside of her body. Her limbs were splayed awkwardly and her eyes gazed at the space her ghost occupied, unseeing. Molly looked down at her new form and was surprised to see it looked exactly like her old one, right down to the hole in her leggings. She really wished she’d known she was going to die. She’d have dressed up a little. Or at least put a bit more effort into her eyeliner that morning.

She’d never felt more alive.

*

Some people enjoy going on holiday after a bereavement. Molly wasn’t that kind of girl; she much preferred what she was doing now- freaking the living Jesus out of people on the tube. Over the past few hours, she had discovered a range of new abilities, all of which she easily recognised from the most stereotypical ghost movies- she could walk through walls; make hallways whisper disconcerting things to innocent passers-by; and, if she concentrated enough, move physical things about. Then there were the abilities the movies didn’t know about- being able to read people’s thoughts, for instance. People really are so much bigger on the inside, Molly discovered. So much going on in such a tiny amount of space. As Molly no longer occupied a physical space, she could reach her ghostly hands into their minds and read everything they were thinking, had thought, and had felt.

Of course, this was only entertaining for the first few hours of death. Then she felt the stirrings of anger in her belly- what stage of death was that meant to be? She seemed to have skipped a few, anyway. She’d accepted it right away, she was that kind of a girl. Bus was late? Fine. Fired from her stupid job? Okey-dokey. Actually dead? Sure, why not. That’s Molly for you.

Now, she skipped ahead to the final stage of death- the haunting. She ghosted over to her old place of work (if you’ll pardon the pun) and placed her hand into the computer. Searching, she instantly found what she was looking for. She grinned to herself and vanished into thin air.

When she reappeared, she was standing on the doorstep of a rather run-down flat. She grinned to herself as she rang the doorbell. There was a crash inside as someone fumbled into their trousers within, and came to the door. Molly snickered as her former employer looked into her face- or through it, she figured, as people didn’t seem able to see her anymore. His rotund face jiggled with annoyance as he looked around for who had rung the doorbell, muttering  ‘Goddamn kids…’ as he was about to go back inside, when Molly suddenly and very loudly moaned,

‘Steeeeeeevvveeeeee!’

Steve paused, looked back for a moment, before shuddering the goosebumps off of his neck.

‘STEEEEEEEVVVVEEEEEEEE!’

No, he’d definitely heard that one. Molly giggled as fear flashed through his eyes and she leaned her ice-cold face into his ear and whispered, ‘You killed me, Steve… Maybe I should return the favour.’

Steve was not a brave man.

Steve passed out.

Molly giggled again as she stepped over his unconscious body and turned his telly on, recalling an occasion when her ex had told her he’d ‘see her in hell’. Well, she thought, smirking to herself, she’d found a much more fun place to see him next. Now, what was his address…?

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