Phillip was an ordinary child. Then one day he died and had a funeral. Well, his family had a funeral for him. After that, he woke up in a cold, dark place. Then he sat up and realized two things: number one; he was six feet underground in a- his coffin, and number two; his head and shoulders were going through the dirt and coffin. He slowly and carefully laid back down and felt lighter than he’s ever felt before. After a few seconds of thinking about life and other stuff, he decided to try it. He was going to jump as high as he could and see if he could get out of this enclosed space. 

          He did. After standing slowly, crouching down, and using all his strength to jump as high as he could, he made it through the ground and two or three feet above. Suddenly gravity existed again and he landed in a superhero pose with one fist punching the ground and kneeling on one knee. After standing and looking around for a bit while rubbing his knuckles and wondering if he had suddenly gone blind while his eyes adjusted to the light, or lack thereof, he realized he was in a cemetery and that it was a dark and cloudy night. Really dark. Like, no stars and no lights around either. He found that odd. When Mommy and Daddy would take him on late night drives the lights in the city were always on, maybe even more so than during the day. 

          He turned and looked up at a nearby tree when he heard an owl hooting. Weird. For some reason, Phillip had always thought that all owls had yellow eyes; but this one had completely black eyes and white feathers. Another odd thing was that it seemed to be staring right at him. But he couldn’t see him… right? It was eerie and unnerving and he didn’t like it one bit…         After staring at the bird for a while Phillip started walking around. Then he realized something else. He heard the owl, and he heard the wind, but he couldn't hear his footsteps. Sure he was walking on grass but he couldn't hear it moving or the leaves from the trees crunching under his feet, or even his footsteps, not even in the slightest. He stomped his foot, then he stomped his foot again and neither time did he hear it. He was wearing a suit, the one mom makes him wear for special occasions, with a tie and everything, but his fancy, shined shoes weren't supposed to be soundproof. 

He clapped his hands and still, nothing. Then he tried his last hope. “He-” he stopped abruptly to clear his throat which felt as though he hadn't spoken a day in his life. Then he tried again. “Hello?” Strange. His voice echoed. It didn't sound the same as when he and dad would go climbing mountains and then yell when they reached the top, though. It sounded… quiet as if not really there, but too loud at the same time.

          A thought occurred to him. “Mother?” Silence. He walked toward the edge of the cemetery. “Mother?” He tried a little louder and picked up his pace as he walked closer to the entrance and exit. The closer he got the more he could hear cars driving around. He realized that the city lights were rapidly turning brighter as well. Now he could see clearly. He made it to the street. 

          All the cars reminded him of the accident. His father hadn’t been there. Mommy was driving him home from school when a giant truck crashed into them. That's the last he remembers. Dad had been at home with Cecelia because she was sick and couldn’t go to school that day. She’s only in kindergarten, though, so one missed day shouldn’t have affected her grade. Not that she’s the one failing school, but technically he isn’t either, anymore… and he never will again. So much for not dropping out of school.

          A truck passing by and honking its horn interrupted his thoughts. He stepped back a bit as he saw he was a bit too close to the street, and then looked down the street both ways. There were few cars driving around, but enough to count as busy late at night. Going back to his thoughts, he realized that he hadn’t seen a grave for his mother. Then again, he barely even looked at his own tombstone. It had his name, he knew; his name and the year he was born- plus this year as well. 

          “Phillip Eulthus, born in the year 2000 - died 2012; beloved son, brother, nephew, and moron”

          Okay, maybe he didn’t actually read it, but he’s sure it’s something along those lines. He’s sure that Uncle Alfonzo wouldn’t stop pestering his parents until they added at least a small mention of himself on the gravestone. His parents. Maybe he should go back and check. Oh, wait no. He had heard her call his name right before everything faded. So, she’s either still alive, or didn’t die right away. Just in case, then?

          Suddenly something flew by him overhead. It was the pupil-less owl. Should he follow it? …What's the worst that could happen? It’s not like he isn’t already dead.