FICTION: And what have I become? Mr Ghost?

A youth recalls the revolt that killed him and questions whether his death changed anything at all.

Mother. Father. And my country. These are the words I wanted to scribble ever since I arrived here in heaven, or hell, or wherever it is. Here, we are given raw meat to eat (I don’t know from which animal), so I assume I’m living in hell. At times, the river of milk flows, and that is when I convince myself that it’s heaven. Afterwards, I feel grateful for all the good deeds I had done in my past life. Pens are really scarce here, and I don’t know where they come from. Every object, every event, every scene makes me feel like I’m caught inside one of those ludicrous dreams.