I don’t remember the day I died. I don’t remember anything leading up to that. I just remember waking up as a ghost in the middle of a street, not knowing who I was, with a reaper standing next to me. Not the reaper, a reaper. She explained that there’s a whole workforce of them, then asked me my name.

I didn’t remember my name. Or how old I was, how I died, or whether I was a good person. I had no ID, and my body was nowhere to be found. I could’ve died days ago and been here comatose. The reaper lady said that she couldn’t take me anywhere without knowing who I was, and left me to find out for myself.

The block I was on looked vaguely familiar. But none of the houses looked like my home, so I kept going. I decided to look for my name at a nearby cemetery. Maybe one of the newer graves would be mine. There were other ghosts, but none seemed to recognize me. I guess I wasn’t a person who frequented cemeteries. That was where I met Kal.

He was the only ghost there to introduce himself. I was immediately put off by the massive red scarring that covered half of his barely-transparent face. He noticed and explained that every dead person has a scar from how they died. A glance at those around us confirmed this. Then he asked me if I cared to share how I died. I said that was what I needed to find out, and he stopped me in my tracks.

Kal explained that he was born with an eidetic memory, and kept it into his afterlife. He told me how he remembers being a baby and saying his own first words. Every minute of every day of elementary, middle, and the first half of high school. Every conversation he’d ever had, everyone he’d ever met.

But he especially vividly remembers the day he died. Riding his bike down this very block, and not seeing the truck coming. The blaring horn, the driver’s scream. Not having time to scream. The sensation of half his skull being crushed. The smell and taste of his own blood. Blacking out and waking up as a ghost just like I did, albeit far quicker.

He also remembers everything that followed. The sight of his crushed bike and equally crushed body. Blood-soaked clothes, exposed bones. People gathered around, praying, crying, calling 911. And every ounce of pain that lingered for days. He recalled the reaper he met, who let him stay on earth by choice, and comforted him during his own funeral.

Kal told me I was lucky, that every day he wishes he was able to forget. He said that whoever I was before didn’t matter and that he was here for me now. I appreciated that.

Even more so when I saw my reflection in a puddle, and realized that my scar was just like Kal’s.