On Misery and Fallen Angels

Por Sofía Posada Bernal

Sofía Posada Bernal was born August 30, 1996 in Bogotá, Colombia. Currently she is going through her last high school year. She started writing at thirteen and has not stopped since. As a young writer her only desire was to create characters and situations that would make people feel emotions they never thought they could feel. She had never had the guts to share her writings until now. On Misery and Fallen Angels is her first novel. “Writing a book is not an easy task. We all have millions of stories in our mind, but it is not easy to see which ones are worth writing about, which ones are worth developing and shaping, which ones you have to nurture and take care of until they come to life right in front of your eyes. It is not easy to see which story is worth sleepless nights and tears of excitement and/or fear. It is hard to see which character is worth falling in love or out of love with, but I guarantee you, fellow reader, that it is worth it when you realize that the story told by that character has now become a part of you”.

• Idioma: Español
• Editorial: Bilineata Publishing
• Fecha de lanzamiento: 18 nov 2013
• ISBN: 9789588839080

Sofía Posada Bernal

Sofía Posada Bernal was born August 30, 1996 in Bogotá, Colombia. Currently she is going through her last high school year. She started writing at thirteen and has not stopped since. As a young writer her only desire was to create characters and situations that would make people feel emotions they never thought they could feel. She had never had the guts to share her writings until now. On Misery and Fallen Angels is her first novel.

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Sofía Posada Bernal was born August 30, 1996 in Bogotá, Colombia. Currently she is going through her last high school year. She started writing at thirteen and has not stopped since. As a young writer her only desire was to créate characters and situations that would make people feel emotions they never thought they could feel. She had never had the guts to share her writings until now. On Misery and Fallen Angels is her first novel.

They that love beyond the world cannot

be separated by it.

Death cannot kill what never dies.

William Penn

WHO I AM:

I am a ghost and this is my story.

That sounded so much better in my head. Actually, I’m not a ghost; I might just be some kind of spirit.

I can’t remember anything that happened before I was a ghost/spirit. I don’t know anything about my last life or my only life. The only thing I remember is a horrible pain that lasted about two seconds and I waking up in this city.

I wonder if I was born here. The only thing I know about this place is that everyone speaks English. I also understand English, but I can’t remember my family, friends or girlfriend if I had one (by the way, I’m a male). I can’t even remember my name. I don’t even know if I deserve a name, but anyway, nobody really needs to know who I am.

I think it’s useless to have a name if nobody will ever call me or ask me anything, isn’t it?

I don’t know anything about myself or anyone else; I don’t know anything about people. But at the same time I have a weird way of referencing everything except myself.

I know water makes you get wet, I know grass is green, I even know what love is.

I know what it feels like to be alive, but now everything is different. I don’t know anything about death, I don’t know how much time I have been dead and I don’t know how long I will be dead. But I guess it’s ok, because in my situation, time isn’t important.

FOR THOSE:

Being dead (if I actually am dead) isn’t funny or like in the movies style like people would think.

I can’t do a lot of things. I can’t sleep, I can’t blink and I can’t breathe or eat, but these things aren’t important. What I feel worse about is:

—I don’t know if I have a voice (I haven’t tried talking because when I think I’m talking, I realize I’m just thinking).

—I don’t know what I look like (I can’t reflect, in mirrors nor water. What is worse is that I don’t know if there is anything to reflect).

—And the worst: I can’t touch anything. Well I can try, but it’s like objects go through me (is not that I go through objects, it’s that they go through me). When I try to grab or feel something it slides right out of my fingers (if I have any). It’s like trying to grab smoke; even if you can’t, you still keep trying.

The other thing I feel weird about is that of course people can’t see me. It’s not just that they can’t see me, I know they feel a presence (mine) but they simply just don’t care about it. For example, if I am standing somewhere people avoid me.

There are things I CAN actually do. I can think, I can see, I can smell, I can hear and I can be in some place without going through it.

There are some rules of course that I can’t break. I can’t go through soil, water or fire. I don’t know why. I think it has to do with the elements or something. It makes me feel like a superhero haha (By the way I haven’t lost my sense of humor either).

For sure the worst fact about all of this is the loneliness. It is not like there is a parallel world of dead people (and if there is I haven’t found it yet). I haven’t seen anyone of my kind.

I don’t know if I am the only one in this situation. I hope not, because I really need a guide, a good one.

A TYPICAL GHOST DAY:

Well, I can’t sleep, but when it’s dark I just stay in one place looking/observing people.

It’s fascinating how everyone has a life, things to do, people to meet and situations to experience. Everybody has this except me obviously.

After doing that for about seven hours I start walking aimlessly (well, actually I don’t really walk. It doesn’t feel like I’m walking, it feels more like I’m floating or diving into the air).

I walk/dive without a destination because I don’t have anywhere to go, but still I keep thinking I have to go somewhere.

I can’t feel the ground under me but I’m still walking, moving.

Sometimes I think I’m not a silhouette or a shade. I’m just a floating mind, observing, and that’s all.

I know nobody notices me because they are too busy to see me, but I see them. I watch them and I feel what they think. I feel sad for them when they suffer.

Sometimes I think of some people longer than others. In these moments I’m glad I don’t remember my family because I would miss them and that surely would be frustrating.

I walk/float all day until twilight, looking for that specific kind of person. The next day I do exactly the same thing. I don’t really know what I am looking for.

GETTING INTO OTHER PEOPLE’S BUSINESS:

I always try to stay at a safe distance from people. I don’t know if I can hurt them or they can hurt me so … why take risks?

I stay away from them, but not too much, just enough so I can hear them but they can’t feel me.

Today was different. I was walking or floating or whatever when I saw a teenage girl that was just about to jump from a building. It was a tall building; she would surely die or be paralytic for the rest of her life.

Nobody was looking or saying anything to her. It was just me observing. I noticed two things:

1- She was crying desperately and she had already decided to jump.

2- She was the most beautiful thing I had seen in my life/existence.

She was perfect. She wasn’t too tall, had amazing long black hair and beautiful, tear covered expressive blue eyes.

She was an angel.

I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t let an angel kill herself. It wouldn’t be correct. It was a total waste to observe an angel suicide and do nothing.

It was time to take risks. And if I hurt her … well she had already decided to commit suicide anyway so I guess its ok.

So I will try something … anything … I have to.

GETTING MY VOICE BACK, I GUESS:

I observe the angel and I walk right next to her, so close I can hear her heart beating fast full of adrenaline. I also hear her breath going faster. She was breathing in a very scared way.

I guess dying is scary even when you want to die.

I walk right at her side looking at the fall (it looks bigger from here) and it doesn’t feel right. If an angel has to die it should die covered with roses in a beautiful way. Not jumping from a building or bridge, it is too much sadness and blood.

An angel’s life should be … sublime.

Then she talked, her voice was like a lullaby straight from heaven: —go away … what are you doing here anyway? —I don’t know if I should feel scared or happy.

She actually sees me.

—Don’t do it. Don’t try it again—did I just talk? Oh dear lord! Now I know I can do it!

—Go away—she said walking closer to the fall.

—Camille, don’t—now I am confused. I don’t even know her. How would I know her name? (By the way, BEAUTIFUL name). So I decided to turn back, I saw a guy that looked exhausted and was very worried.

I felt very bad because I don’t really have my voice back (if I ever had one before) or my presence. But I was more scared because of Camille’s jumping off the building.

—Please Camille, we can talk about this—the guy said. There is nothing left to talk about now—she said and then closed her eyes walking out of the building edge.

AN ANGEL’S SUICIDE:

Everything was very quick. She put a foot out of the building and changed her weight into that foot, so she fell.

At the same time the guy ran to her and grabbed her arm. I moved as quickly as I could under Camille and tried to grab her but she just slid out of my fingers, but I guess she felt something when I touched her (in that moment she was hanging just from the guy’s hand with the rest of her body above the fall) because at that moment she screamed:—something just touched me! It is pulling me! Please bring me up! —She was crying so hard she could barely breathe.

The guy pulled as hard as he could but he wasn’t strong enough. She was sliding off the guy’s fingers.

She screamed at the top of her lungs and then dropped the guy’s hands. She started to fall. You can bet she was seeing her life passing through her eyes as she fell. You could tell by her expression; she was so concentrated that I can swear she forgot she was falling from a building.

She was falling from a 20 story building.

I had to make a last try so I ran as fast as I could