Lissaburd

Copyright 2025 Melissa Fallon There are a lot of different beliefs about what happens to you after you die and they’re all true. What you think will happen, happens. That’s why there are so many different stories. When I died it was as I expected. All the colours washed away into the sallow light of my surroundings. Only dirt and a lake remained, both disappearing into darkness. Two blue lights, dim at first, became eyes as a tall, thin figure took shape and drifted closer in a rickety old skiff. I stood transfixed when the boat stopped. I thought for several moments the figure might have been a statue. Then it turned to me and gracefully stepped onto the shore. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s come to me in this way,” said the figure. My mouth fell open and I took a step back. The figure, perhaps seeing my hesitation, stopped and stared at me. It was a skeleton in a black hooded robe, just as I imagined death should be. “Do you wish to cross,” it asked and gestured behind