For a long time, I preferred homes filled with amples amounts of sunlight but spending centuries under the sun’s gaze without her tender warmth became torturous. So I hid myself away, spending most of my time lingering in the Expired Realm, but in the end it left me as blue as my lips on the cold day they found my corpse. The other deceased as we call ourselves around here were lackluster in demeanor and I always found myself stuck with moving the conversation along.

Sitting on a bar stool, half-drunken drink of spirits in front of me, I fill the silence the bartender left with an abrupt question.

“So what’s your cause?,” I point a finger at the knife sunken in his chest.

My mouth feels dry, or at least it would if I had any flesh. Sustenance in the afterlife is unnecessary, yet all of us foolishly give into cravings, desperate for that thrill a beating heart used to give us. The drink in front of me is my third one tonight, or at least I think it is. Time is hard to keep track of here. A minute for me on this barstool could end up being a decade once I walk out of the bar and return to rent a room at Your Demise, the cheapest motel in expire. Yet, these last few nights it’s felt like time is moving slow as my favorite weapon of choice no longer brings me a heady bliss, abandoning me just like the sun’s warmth.

“Jealous lover? Family feud? Front-stabbing friend?” I continue when I’m once again met with silence.

Shoulders slumping, I grab my drink off the bar counter and down it in one gulp.

“I’m cutting you off,” the bartender’s deep voice is stern and stiff.

I stare him down, trying to show I’m not intimidated by his muscular build almost hidden by the dowdy brown suit he’s wearing. The sleeves of said suit are rolled-up to his elbow and I can see his large fist clenching up. Even though we’ve got no bodies to maintain blood flow, all I can see on his arms are popping veins

I tsk him, speaking to him like a disobedient child.

“Now, now, calm yourself. I swear, I’m not drunk, just curious,” I tilt my head sideways, focusing on his thinning salt-pepper hair.

Not to sound vain, but I’m so glad that my hair remains just as lucious as it was when I lived. If not, I’d swear I’d die again and I don’t think there is an afterlife afterlife. Or if there is, I sure haven’t met the criteria.

The bartender scoffs as he moves away. My eyes follow after him and I see him grab a small clear bottle filled with a substance guaranteed to numb you in an instant. I put my hands up, shaking my head.

“No need for an embalming,” I say, putting on a flirty smile. “Curiosity got the best of me. It’s just you look so… efficient, hard to believe someone could take you out.”

I let my eyes roll over his form, feigning desire. In life, I had gentlemen lining out my door to pledge affection so wooing a silent bartender should be easy. The bartender moves closer to me. I bit down on my lip as I flutter my eyelashes, expecting him to make a move but instead he places the clear bottle down in front of me.

“Drink up, dear,” he grins, showcasing decaying teeth.

I grimace. And then I straighten up and glare.

“I bet those drinks you gave me were watered down. I’m not even buzzed right now.”

He glares at me, leans over, placing his hands on the bar top. His face is so close, causing me to lean back and almost fall off my stool.

“Ain’t nothing watered down in my bar. I get the freshest spirits in this realm.”

I laugh. Standing up from my stool, I back up to put some distance between us.

“I bet you poured some embalmer in my Spirits!” I accuse, looking around to see if any other customer agreed with my accusation.

As usual, the bar is quiet, every customer drinks up their spirits, holed up in whatever emotion their drink contained.

“Listen, here, I make the best Lament Sours in Expire! So drink the embalmer and get out.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been a consistent customer for centuries and you're kicking me out?” I remark, gesturing to myself.

“Exactly, and you know the rules, we don’t talk about causes here, so get out, drink the embalmer, and try not to become someone else’s problem.”

“I don’t need this,” I spat, turning around. “Take your embalmer and shove it six feet under!”

And then like a coward I make a run for it.

Over the next few days, I go bar hopping, desperate to drown in my regrets but it seems I’ve become quite popular in the bar circuit. Everywhere I went an image of me with the words banned under it appeared and no matter how much I pleaded no one granted me entry. In the end, I ended up at a corner store, filled with cheap afterlife goods. I grab a six-pack of Wailing Ale, knowing it’ll have no effect but still desperate for a taste of regret. While on the line, I overheard two ghosts talking about some show on Mournflix, called Keeping Up With The Livings. From their description, ghosts seek out domains to haunt and if they manage to frighten the life out of humans they win a large sum of afterlife prizes. Including the most premium spirits of their choosing for all of eternity.

I jump into their conversation with an array of questions. They both glanced at each other with raised eyebrows as I awaited their answers.

“How do I apply for this show?”

“Uhhh, they have the information on their website,” one of them replies, holding up their Diephone.

Before they can answer my many other questions, I place my six pack of spirits on a nearby shelf and run off to look up the site at the local Mortuary. Unlike the mortuaries of the living that focus on preparing the dead for their final rest, afterlife mortuaries were akin to libraries and were the center of information in the Expired Realm. Full of free resources, it’s the perfect place to gather information, especially if one doesn’t have enough currency to acquire fancy tech. In the afterlife, there were two popular currencies, memories and fear. Memories of your living life could go a long way especially if you’d died of old age. I, myself, died young and beautiful but I’ve sold so many memories that my living life feels like a distant dream. Luckily, living in attics of homes for a few centuries, gave me quite a decent sum of fear but that’s running out.

Even if I didn’t get banned everywhere, I probably wouldn’t have enough for even five glasses of bittersweet regret. This realization motivates me as I research more into Keeping Up With The Livings. Sitting at a computer desk, I type in the show name on omens ( the top search engine here) and do diligent research. After some time, I’m downtrodden to find out that before one’s considered as a candidate for the show they must have frightened the life out of at least three living. I haven’t even scared one to death yet.

Biting down on my lip, I stare at the screen as I contemplate my next move. As final a destination this realm is, it’s still aligned with the mortal world in human advancement. For example, I remember when the streets of Expired were full of stalls, now we have a variety of stores and an abundance of coffee shops on every corner. The changes were overwhelming at first but, overall I’ve managed to learn the basics. I mean just a few years ago, I didn’t have a clue of what a computer was but now I can even use omens.

I continue searching, looking up top human hunters who’ve appeared on keeping up with the living. The most popular one C.W. Aka. Colin West, haunts movie and television sets. His latest human fright was a sinister writer who killed off the most beloved ghost character, Jasper, the amicable specter, on the hit series, Earth 50. Said writer killed Jasper just as he’d confessed his love to the handsome pizza delivery man, cursed with both immortality and bad decision making, Abel Boone. This writing decision caused major backlash but the writer ignored all criticism. Episodes later, they proceeded to cure Abel of his curse by sending him to travel into the infinite where he manages to die, breaking his curse, but is then sent into the burning abyss, forevermore. I’ve never watched the show myself but from what I see on the numerous essays criticizing said series, it doesn’t seem worth checking out.

I look through more hunters and decide on a game plan. Weeks later, I find myself in front of the portal back to the realm of the living. The reaper near the glowing green portal, lifts their scythe and I feel myself sucked inside its confining chamber. Just as I start to get overwhelmed by it, I hear a whoosh sound and I’m hurtled toward the portal. Once inside, everything’s a blur. When my mind and form are settled, I see that I’ve appeared on the dreary street full of other ghosts but lacking in human prey. I explore the area, remembering what I researched online, hoping to find a good place for a haunt.

Eventually, I stumble upon a suburb, full of identical looking houses. On the yards, I see children playing, some even stare at me, shivering in fear. To those who see, I give a smile, sending them all running back into their homes. But there is one that stays, a strange girl with dark eyes, wearing grey overalls and a light green shirt.

“Not scared?” I ask the girl, brow raised as I observe her.

“You won’t last here, long,” the girl replies, staring at me with blank eyes.

“I’m here for a haunt, everyone in this neighborhood is doomed.”

The girl chuckles. “You won’t last here, long.”

Her repeating her words, make me march forward, ready to end her. But before I can, I feel a piercing light strike my chest. Looking away from her, I see a woman, gray haired, close to death’s door but the power she holds it’s terrifying. I go to move my leg but I drop to the ground, falling like a stack of papers. The Light she pierced me with brings a searing pain that travels all over my body.

In the moment, my form starts to disappear, something rises in me. It almost brings a smile to my lips. The taste I thirst for at every minute sticks to my tongue. The wonderful taste of regret. Regret that’s all my own.