I spent a few hours on the top of the tree watching the wind play with the treetops. The land behind the cabin was covered in underbrush and bracken. It seemed like sandier soil there. Further down the hill, the underbrush became covered in trees—conifer, deciduous, evergreen, or whatever passes for those on this world. There were probably new tree types out there, too, but for all I could see, it was nothing but green. I suppose you could call it a sea of green all the way towards the river and beyond. It reminded me of heavy winds dancing across a lake’s surface.

I remember a lake, but not the name or location of the lake? Will these memories fade further over time, or will I just fade away? Well, I hope I remember who I am long before that happens.

After some time, I felt calmer, but I still didn't know what to do with myself. I felt so disconnected. I couldn't taste anything. I couldn't smell anything. I couldn't even feel the breeze on my skin. Did I have skin? I looked at my translucent hands.

I could see through my hands some golden berries bouncing in the wind at the end of some branches near me. I reached out and they bobbed up and down in the wind through my hand. I felt nothing. These may look like pine trees, but they grew fruit like evergreen shrubs back on Earth. I couldn't recall any tall pine trees that grew fruit, but then again, I couldn't remember much about myself.

Something seemed odd about the berries to me, though. They were gold with amber tones around the edges instead of the image I saw in my mind.

Were they pale green or–what was it again?–blue!

They should be blue according to my wispy memory. But I was on Verdant now, and I couldn't even find out if the berries were poisonous to me, or if they tasted good. The berries from my memory were neither poisonous or tasty. I remember their bitter taste on my tongue when I was a child. Maybe these berries were delicious. I'd never know if I remained in the state I was in—an ethereal, misty shadow wearing a pout.

I remembered all that and still can’t recall my own name? Maybe I should just pick one for myself?

The problem was that I couldn’t remember anybody else’s name either.

Dying wasn't the saintly, heavenly experience I had expected. First of all, the angels sure treated me like garbage. They were convinced of my guilt, wiped my memory, and spent as little time with me as possible. I got the feeling as they looked over their stone tablets that they weren't even familiar with who I was—that they had read the reports about me for the fist time as I stood there next to them. They wanted to annihilate me by the book, so they gave me as little information as they could get away with in order to make me fail. Something about this whole situation seemed rotten to me. I began to wonder what else they hadn't told me to ensure my failure.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Aren’t angels supposed to be kinder and represent all that is good? I’m lucky those two didn’t get some kicks in while I was down. Well, screw them!

As I bobbed at the top of the tree and looked around in all directions, I began to feel a calm come over me. "Feel" was an odd word to use since I couldn't touch anything, but there was no other way to describe it. Deep inside my core, I felt something click into place. It didn't matter what I had done before, or who I was. That information wouldn't help me. I needed to learn all I could about being a ghost now, then use that information to wipe the smug look off those angels' stuck-up faces.

But what could I recall about ghosts? They were supposed to be translucent, evil phantasms that terrified people. They were the remnants of souls from the past. They were also bunk. I didn’t believe in ghosts in my previous life, which was ironic considering how I was spending my next one.However, I did recall they came in different types. They haunted historical locations, allegedly reliving a certain moment of their lives. Some even looped at certain times of the day, or on certain days. Neither of those applied to me.

Yet. Heh…

Some ghosts bore tidings of warning. Some were callers who shouted out somebody’s name. Some relayed visions of impending doom. Others were incorporate apparitions that terrified people by wriggling in the air. Useless to me. I also didn’t fancy that I had the knack for relaying visions or entering dreams as some ghosts have been reported doing, especially since there was nobody around to experiment on.

An apparition was probably the step before manifesting myself before somebody, but I had no ideas on how to make myself visible. I wondered if that was something I would earn after building somebody’s faith in me.

As I ran through the different ghost types that I could recall, I realized that I was mostly pulling them from movies that I could vaguely remember. All of them could be ridiculous make believe and a waste of my time to pursue. However, the one ghost that stood out as the most powerful to me was the poltergeist. They moved things, which was probably how ghosts could serve people. If I wanted people to believe in me, I needed to be able to communicate to them or move things around for them.

It all seemed rather farfetched and out there, but then again, I was a ghost, wasn’t I? And a farfetched plan was better than no plan at all. I turned my attention to the golden berries around me and with a healthy amount of determination, I began to focus on moving them. Somehow, it had to be possible.