Falling into Twilight: Your Eyes Like Evening Stars Chapter 1

It was only after I died that I learned my nemesis was in love with me.

My soul hovered in the air above my unclaimed body, my family utterly indifferent. The only one who mourned was Colin, the man I’d fought with for over a decade. He was the one who collected my body, his eyes red-rimmed as he cursed through his tears.

“Goddammit, Asher, I never even got to kiss you,” he sobbed. “Who the fuck said you could die?”

Death, it turned out, was a window into Colin’s decade-long secret.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my freshman year of college. Without a second thought, I bolted to Colin’s dorm.

“Colin!” I hammered on his door. “Open up! I came here to make out with you.”

* * *

“Hello, am I speaking with Asher’s parents? I’m calling to ask if you could come and identify his body.”

The couple on the other end of the line didn’t react. Their expressions were cold, almost bored.

“Asher? I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number. We only have one son. His name is Mason.”

After hanging up, the middle-aged couple seethed.

“We never should have taken him back,” the woman muttered. “He does nothing but cause trouble. Now he’s resorting to pranks like this? It’d be better if he really did drop dead somewhere.”

Mason, sitting beside them, feigned a worried expression. “But what if it’s true? What if something really happened to him? You know how he’s always getting into fights.”

My older brother, Neil, who was sitting on the sofa, gently reassured him. “Mason, you’re just too kind. You know Asher. He’d do anything for attention. He doesn’t have the guts to actually die.”

“He’s probably hiding somewhere right now,” Neil continued, his voice dripping with disdain, “watching us, hoping to see us panic. He’d get a good laugh out of that.”

I floated in the air, a silent observer to it all.

I am Asher.

The “real son” they spoke of with such venom. The vicious, manipulative monster who would do anything to steal the spotlight, the one who deserved to die alone.

My biological parents, my brother, even my fiancé—they were all there. Not a single one of them thought to verify the call. They all believed I deserved to die. Wished for it, even.

Because in their eyes, there was only room for Mason, their “kind-hearted adopted son.” I was just the villain everyone hated.

So, I gave them their wish.

There’s a strange thrill to ending your own life, a perverse agony in feeling the warmth of life seeping out, drop by drop. I lay calmly in the tub, watching the blood bloom in the water until darkness took me. I’d drift back to consciousness, but the pain was a crushing weight, and I’d slip away again. After a few cycles of this, I was finally gone.

After death, my soul was tethered to my body, unable to leave the small apartment. It was so boring. And I was hungry. God, I could kill for an apple…

I explored every corner of the room, a ghost trapped in a cage. Five days passed. Then came the weekend, when the landlord came to collect the rent. He called, he knocked, but there was no answer. A short while later, he called the police.

I’m so sorry, man, I thought, addressing the landlord. Sorry for messing up your place. I just had nowhere else to go.

I’d left all my money for him, a compensation for the inconvenience of dying in his property. It was enough to buy several more apartments like this one.

The blare of sirens finally broke the silence. My room filled with people, and a flicker of hope ignited within me. Can I finally leave?

A flash of white light, and suddenly I was at the Crawfords' house, a ghost in their living room. I watched the happy family, a perfect picture of domestic bliss, and felt nothing. Not a single ripple of emotion.

When will I disappear for good? I wondered. I don’t want to see these people ever again.