A Naked Woman Killed Me On Nude Day

A naked woman kills a man on Nude Day in a hit and run accident.

"I'm dead, I'm really dead, but somehow I'm still alive," I said staring at my dead body.

Even though I'm a dead man, literally, I'm grateful that I can still tell my story. Don't ask me how because I'm just as freaked out by all of what has happened, as you are reading that a dead man wrote this story.

Relegated to spend, not sure how much more time on Earth, as a ghost haunting my killer, I'm waiting for someone to pull the plug to release me, so that I may rest in peace. Then, I wonder, will I ever rest in peace? For sure, just as being a ghost is no way to live, becoming a ghost is no way to die either.

At the same time, I wonder how many ghosts there are on Earth experiencing what I'm experiencing now. Nothing like I ever imagined when dying, never figuring I'd become a ghost, this is surreal. Even though I'm a ghost, I've yet to see another one. Maybe ghosts can't see one another in the way that people can or think they can see ghosts.

Based on what happened to me, dying instantly, I figure, because I died so quickly, my brain, body, and soul didn't have the time to make the transformation and the necessary adjustment for a permanent disconnection from life to death. Unable to think of another explanation, theoretically, it makes sense to me. Thusly, here I am, doubly fucked, dead but not dead, alive but not alive. Even in death, as it was for me in life, I can't do anything right. I can't even die, so to speak.

I mean, I'm dead, of course, but I'm still here. What is that about? Why me? I feel like such a loser. If anyone was to find out what happened, I'll be the butt of a comedian's routine. I can hear Jay Leno giving his late night monologue and using me for the humor.

"Did you hear about the guy, who was so dumb that when he was hit by a car, he was too dumb to die? Yeah, this guy was a real loser. Even after seeing his dead body strewn in piece everywhere, he still didn't know he was dead. He was a ghost."

Now that I think about it, didn't they make a movie about a dead guy not knowing he was dead, who became a ghost? Yeah, The Sixth Sense, with Bruce Willis. Here I am starring in my own sixth sense. Never would I have believed this could happen, if it wasn't happening now.

I was always of the mindset that, when someone died, nothing else existed, except maybe for Heaven and angels or Hell and devils. Even though I'm not or wasn't a very religious man, I believed in God and figured that if I didn't go to Heaven, I surely wouldn't go to Hell. Living my life somewhere in the middle, I was hoping that there was some in between place, a staging area, where good but not good enough souls go first, a temporary purgatory maybe. Surely, we all can't be as saintly as was Mother Teresa, just as we're all as evil as was Jeffrey Dahmer.

I was hoping to go to the same place, where they put the Popes, Cardinals, and Bishops for living a holy life but for being tempted by all those riches in Vatican City. I was hoping to go there, instead of here, as a ghost. Even after taking the vow of poverty, the men who give their lives to God manage to somehow live a royal, regal, and luxurious life, while the rest of us struggle to put fast food on the table, even the Nuns.

Dying was my only personal chance, after all, to find out if all that is written in the Bible is true or false. I'd like to know if the Bible is non-fiction or fiction. Or, maybe there is no God, just aliens. Wouldn't that be a kick in the pants having to be subservient to a superior being, who looks just like a giant ant? When I think about all the ants that I killed in the course of my life, I'd hate for that to be my judgment day.

Yet, someone had to make the aliens, so now I'm back to square one, while wondering about the existence of God. I figured it would take me to die to find out. Yet, I truly figured that, once I died, I'd know the answer to life and to the same question we all ask.

"Why am I here? Are we alone?"

I'm more than curious to know, if there's a God, a super alien being, or both coexisting in harmony in this vast unexplored universe. Was the Bible the greatest story ever told or is it all true? Now, being stuck here on Earth in a ghostly limbo, alive but not alive and dead but not dead, I may never know. To be honest, with being a ghostly apparition, I have more things to worry about than Heaven and the existence of God and Hell and the existence of the Devil.

When I was alive and pondering the life's important questions of the universe, what I thought would be fun being a ghost and being able to watch women undressing sucks. Hey, it was a relevant and important question at the time, especially when I was trying to get myself off. Yet, now, I have more important things to ponder than to spy on women in dressing rooms.

Never is when I figured I'd ever hear myself say that. That's not to say that I won't spy on women changing in dressing rooms. Maybe later, after being a ghost for a while, I'll hang around a dressing room in some swanky boutique on Rodeo Drive to watch all the celebrity bitches get naked. I'm not ready for doing that just yet.

Besides, who wants to see a naked women, when you can't even touch her, feel her, caress her, and make love to her? That's frustrating, as all Hell. Being able to watch a woman undress, taking off her dress, her bra, and her panty, watching a woman get naked, and unable to grope her is pure torture. Not being able to have my way with her is too much like being married.

While watching my wife, if I had one, which I don't, thank God, because she'd be a widow right now, undress and getting ready for bed, seeing her naked, before she slips on her nightgown, I'd always think, no doubt, that tonight is the night that I'm going to get lucky. Only, she's not in the mood, has a headache, or it's that time of the month. Yeah, being a ghost, seeing naked women, but unable to touch them, is much like that and too much like being married.

Meanwhile, back to my present situation, I don't remember much about the night that I died, except that it happened on National Nude Day, of all days.

"Weird. Go figure. What is that about?"

I didn't even know there was such a day, until my killer told me there was and that she was on her way to celebrate the naked holiday at a party.

I struggled with the meaning of dying on National Nude Day, but still haven't come up with a connection and explanation, other than it was just coincidental. Only, I had a nagging sensation that there was a reason for dying on National Nude Day. Only, for the life of me and the death of me, I couldn't think why I died on that particular day.

Certainly, there's no good answer for dying on a day that I should have been sexually excited, that is, had I known about the holiday beforehand, in the first place. Of all days, why that day, National Nude Day, instead of the Fourth of July, Christmas or New Years? Maybe it is just a coincidence, but I never even celebrated National Nude Day. Yet, now the fact that I died on that fateful day means that I'm doomed to relive the day I became a ghost for the rest of my life and the rest of my death because, being a ghost, I'm not sure if I'm dead or alive.

The fact that I died on such an auspiciously lurid holiday, as Nude Day, gives me reason to never forget when I died. Never forgetting the day I died has good and bad ramifications, I imagine. Yet, more importantly and not to mention, it's extraordinary that I should have any conscious memory of my death and any conscious thought, at all, but I do. Yet, meaningless to me at the time, what did it matter, I didn't even know such a holiday existed? I may be looking for clues of my death at a dead end.

Too late to participate in the freeing and festive mood that goes along with a holiday that encourages people to get naked in public, I wish I had known about Nude Day, before the death of me. I could have had some sexy fun with Nude Day by partying naked. Who knows, maybe I would have met miss naked right, instead of dying alone with my bad self?

It's astonishing to me that I remember anything at all, even though it's taken me a very long time to recall what I do remember. I'm glad that I was able to piece together all that actually happened on that inauspiciously fateful night that I died. I mean, of course, I remembered all of it, immediately after it happened, but as a way for my brain to protect me, as quickly as I remembered it, I forgot it. What I do know is that I'm dead, but I'm not dead. I'm a ghost, an apparition, a ghoulish spirit, while on a mission to haunt my killer. I'm the dark, unknown thing, the bump in the night with the covers pulled tightly over your head, before filling the night with terror filled screams, that they write scary movies and scary stories about.

"Boo!"

I'm having a difficult time wrapping my brain around the reality of being alive, but not being alive. Then, I wondered, what if we all experience this when we die? What if, for a little while, we all become ghosts, as a way for us to leave our prior life behind, before continuing on in our death. What if becoming a ghost for a little while is our way to say good-bye to our loved ones?

"Cool."

Maybe this is something we all must go through, before finding our permanent place in eternity. Okay, I can live, I mean, die with that. Maybe we all continue on as ghosts, before finally fading away and disappearing and resting in peace, gone forever and never to return. Only, where do we go? Are there directions to my final destination? Does someone take me there or do I have a GPS code that unlocks in my brain, once I'm dead and I go there on automatic pilot?

Go here and not there. Turn right instead of left. Do not pass Go and collect your $200. Leaving Earth and my little life behind, I always imagined, when I died, that I'd travel at the speed of light to another universe, where all the dead gathered. Finally, I could give a piece of my mind to Michael Jackson, Elvis, and Marilyn Monroe.

"What the Hell were you thinking? Duh? You had it all and you threw it all away."

Only, with my luck, I'll spend the rest of eternity, such a long time, traveling a dark universe. Unlit by stars, deep in the clutches of a black hole that continues forever, until the forces of it pull what's left of me apart, that will be my last horrific amusement ride. Finally, spit out of the black hole, so much like scum leaking out of a sewer pipe, there I am for the remainder of my time in tiny specks of dust strewn all around space.

"Time? What's time?"

Be it a few minutes or an eternity, what does time matter to me now that I'm dead? I've already wasted all the time I had alive to live on Earth. When I think about it, my life was such a waste. I accomplished nothing. I didn't even procreate. Truly, I'm such a loser.

Still, with no more rushing around, working a job, and stressing over things that were so important to me then, but so unimportant to me now, it's over. My personal perception of reality all changed in an instant by the death of me. Speaking of time, I have plenty of time, now that I'm dead, stuck actually, between life and death and Heaven and Earth or Earth and Hell to ponder all that I never pondered before, while alive.

"Fuck! I hate this. This sucks! It's not fair."

I realize now that there were so many things in my life that were never in my control to change. I realize now that I wasted so much of my precious time. I realize now that I left nothing behind, no girlfriend, no wife, and no children. No one will even remember that I was here. How sad is that?

No one will celebrate my life with the death of me. No one will mourn the loss of me. No one will visit my grave site, pray and weep at my tombstone or release my ashes on a mountaintop. Instead, some highway worker will scrape and wash away what's left of me from off the pavement.

"Gross. Yuck!"

Now, for some inexplicable reason and for however long I'm relegated to remain here in this ghostly and ghastly capacity, I'm doomed to spend my time here on Earth haunting the woman who killed me. Go figure. Instead, I wish I was free to experience my next and final chapter in God's or my alien master's plan. Will I ever rest in eternal peace or am I doomed to spend the rest of eternity as a ghost? Will I ever learn the answers to all my questions?

When the time comes, just as I so wanted to hold onto life, instead of embracing death, I wonder if I'll want to hold onto being a ghost. Now that I know what it's like to die, now that I know what it's like to be a ghost, it's not so bad. Yet, what I don't know, is what is beyond this. Certainly, it would be worse if suddenly there was nothing and I didn't exist at all.

What happens next? Once I stop being a ghost, do I stop being me forever? Without doubt, being a ghost is better than not existing at all? What if there's nothing after this? What if this ghost thing is just a fluke? Maybe I'm lucky, after all. Maybe being a ghost is like hitting a deathly lottery. Maybe only one in a million people who die become a ghost. Maybe instead of woe is me, I should feel good for me.

"Wow."

Only, I don't know. I just don't know. The one thing that I don't understand is why? Why me? Why her? Why did our paths cross at that inexplicable from life to death changing moment in time, on of all days, National Nude Day? Believing that there's a reason for everything in life, I wonder if that belief transcends in death, too, and if it does, what was the reason for my death on that oddly specific day?

Yet, it's a tragic joke that I sincerely thought, once dead, all that I didn't understand and all the questions that I had about life, would be answered with the death of me. Now, as I had in life, I have as many questions in death. Will I ever know what any of this is about? Will I ever have answers to my questions? Will I ever be free from worry?

What could possibly be the reason for God to sacrifice my life to haunt her, my hit and run driver, of all people? What if there is no God? Still, what did I do to deserve this? Other than killing me in a hit and run accident, what did she do to deserve killing me and me haunting her?

It's not bad enough that I'm dead, but being stuck here as a ghost is the cruelest of jokes of all to play on me. I don't understand any of it. Here one day and gone the next couldn't be truer, only, I'm still here. What is that about?

"Woe is me. Woe is me. Why me?"

I remember it was dark and it was raining. As soon as I heard the thump, I knew I had a flat tire and I figured I got the flat, when I hit that fateful mother of all potholes, just before getting on the highway. If, if, if...if it hadn't been so dark, if it hadn't been raining, and if the hole hadn't been full of water, I would have seen it. If only I could have avoided it, I'd be alive today, no doubt.

I pulled over to the side of the road to change my flat tire. Other than those little worthless donuts that you need instructions to put on, most people don't carry a spare tire with them, but I always do. Most people don't pull over far enough to the right but and, once you open your car door, once you alight from the car..."Wham!" After watching all those videos, where police officers and others are hit by drunk drivers, I pulled over as far as I could, after putting on my flashers. Luckily, I had a spare tire in the trunk.

I remember being pissed that I had a flat. In retrospect, now that I'm dead and now that I'm a ghost, I should have a problem. Only, for the life of me, I don't remember where I was going. Where the Hell was I going? Too late to be coming home from work and driving in the wrong direction to be hitting a dating bar, that's the one thing that baffles me to this day.

Where was I going? Why was I there at that fateful moment in time? Why was I there at the wrong place and at the wrong time? Eerily strange, it's almost as if I had a date with death and as if my expiration was fated to expire on that very date and at that deadly time.

I remember getting out of the car and getting wet but glad that it wasn't raining any harder than it was. I remember jacking up the car, taking off the tire, putting on the spare, and tightening the lug nuts. Chief of my own pit crew, I was done in record time. I'm getting good at fixing flats, one of the few benefits of owning an old car with worn tires.

I loaded everything back in my trunk and closed the lid, and as I was walking to the driver's side door to get in my car, I was lit up by a bright light. I remember that light being so bright that I was paralyzed by the brightness of it. It was so bright and moved, so close, so fast, that I could feel the warmth of it.

Yet, as soon as I had the conscious thought of the light, time slowed and even though all of this happened in a fraction of a second, the experience felt, as if it lasted for minutes. I felt much like a deer caught in headlights on a dark and winding country road. Only, more descriptively, I felt like someone on center stage and with their back turned away from the shine of the bright spotlight.

With my shadow lit up on the background of the stage curtain, the illumination of the bright light caught me off guard. I remember thinking that the light was so brilliantly bright that I could feel the heat emanating from it. Captured in an all encompassing white light, as if on Star Trek, I remember thinking that I was about to be beamed up by a UFO.

"Beam me up, Scotty."

Then, being the good Catholic that I am and have always been, not overtly religious but attending church regularly, and believing in the premise of treating others how I'd want to be treated, I believe in God. For a second, I thought the Almighty was coming down from Heaven to scoop me away to my eternal resting place. Unlucky in life, I thought I had hit the Heavenly lottery in death. Yet, as soon as I turned my head to see what the light was, I was blinded by it and it was too late. Not even having the time to blink my eyes, dying with my eyes wide open, it happened so fast.

"Wham!"

It was over and I was dead. After it was over, still having conscious thought, I knew instantly later, that it was headlights from an oncoming car. Being the car buff that I am and having a particular fondness for the make and model that was my undoing, I discovered, immediately after, that the lights were from the Bi-Xenon high beam headlights from a brand new, shadow blue metallic, a new color for the model year, 2010 Volkswagen GTI. Go figure.

Only a ghostly gear head would denote the make, model, year, and color of the car that killed him. Now that I've had time to ponder it, I wish it had been a Bentley, Rolls Royce, a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, a Maserati, a Jaguar, or an Aston Martin that had killed me. Typical of a car enthusiast to think this way, I have a particular fondness for Bentleys, Rolls Royces, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Maseratis, Jaguars, and Aston Martins. I prefer the English and Italian automobiles to German and Japanese, although the bloodlines of all marquees have been tainted and watered down by buyouts by VW, BMW, GM, and Ford. I would have felt, as though my life had served more of a purpose, meant something more, if having had the honor of being struck and killed by such a fine and expensive, handmade automobile.

I can just imagined the conversations they must have in Heaven or (gulp) in Hell.

"How'd you die?"

"I was run over by an old rusted out '73 Volkswagen Beetle."

"See that guy over there? The one with the flattened head?"

"Yeah."

"He was struck and killed by a brand new Bentley Continental."

"Wow. Lucky bastard."

Nonetheless, it wasn't all bad. I can take some solace in the fact that the GTI is all new for this model year, albeit it's a German car and not an English or an Italian automobile.