Seven Years After My Death

Seven years ago, there had been an earthquake. Because I had been asleep, I hadn't escaped in time and unfortunately ended up one of the casualties.

My soul had floated in mid-air, watching as my body was covered with a white sheet and wheeled into the morgue.

Since then, I'd been wandering around the place where I died for seven years.

I'd always been curious why I hadn't been reincarnated yet. However, the third year after my death, I'd met an older woman who was also a wandering soul like me. She had told me, "When the person you care about the most in this world no longer remembers you, you will disappear."

After that, she had slowly faded away before my eyes and then finally vanished.

I couldn't leave this place, so the only thing I could do was wander every inch of this area alone. I stared at the broken walls that were covered with moss; no one came here anymore. Still, I couldn't figure out the answer.

Who was it?

Who was the person I cared about the most?

How evil. I'd already turned into a ghost, so why were they still not letting me move on?

Hmph.

When the 2652nd day rolled around, I was crouching on the ground, watching the ants carry their food home as usual. In the next moment, I felt a huge gravitational pull, then I was transported to a different location out of my control.

By the time I came to, I was already standing in a large, brightly lit home.

There was a man leaning back against his couch. He had a tablet in one hand and a phone in the other, but I couldn't tell what he was up to.

Curiosity drove me to approach him.

He had a considerably handsome face, except he was frowning slightly right now. His phone beeped. A text message containing a security code from Meta had just come in—the man was trying to log into Facebook.

I watched as he typed his name into the personal details section.

Elliot Jameson—what a gentle and elegant name.

"Huh?" After Elliot finished filling up his details, he suddenly realized that a window had popped up on the signup page. The message read, "You already have a Facebook account. Would you like to sign in?"

Curious, I sat down beside him to look.

He tapped on "Sign In". Soon after, he received a verification code on his phone, which he used to successfully log into a Facebook account called "Nordmann Firs".

I was stunned.

All of a sudden, I realized that it was my account that I was looking at.

"S-Stop!" I floated off the couch. I bared my teeth to scare him, but I ended up stuttering instead. "Tha… That's my acc… account! Y-You can't look!"

However, he couldn't hear me. He proceeded to access the account on his own accord.

The feed was practically dead. Notifications and alerts had piled up because I hadn't logged in in a long time, but aside from that, the friends list was also empty.

He skimmed through my account and muttered, "Boring." He was going to deactivate my account. I tried to stop him, but I was helpless.

I was already a ghost, so I couldn't do anything. The common tropes seen in novels—for instance, ghosts appearing in mirrors—were all fake. In fact, I didn't even have the ability to pick up a scrap of paper from the floor.

I was furious, but I could only watch helplessly as he started the deactivation process.

Seemingly having thought of something, he opened my Facebook Timeline instead. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he let out a surprised exclaim, "Wait, this is—"

Growing distressed, I watched him open the diary entries I'd written on my Facebook.

This person was so rude. How could he peep into the diary of a dead girl?

I reached out to cover his eyes with my hands, but my invisible body merely passed through him. It seemed to have zero effect on him whatsoever.

He scrolled through each and every one of my posts. At first, he looked excited to read about my life, but then his expression slowly changed into one of sorrow and emotion.

"How pitiful…" he sighed.

I slowly fell quiet. I stared at the phone; I hadn't seen that diary in seven years. What had started as some short entries about family misfortunes had slowly turned into the inner thoughts of a young girl who couldn't voice her feelings.

Every page was centered around one name.

Lincoln Carson.

Link.