Ficlets

Todd stopped dead in his tracks, not quite registering the clean, well groomed, smiling man placed first in line in the dead people section.
The half-eaten meal bar hastily shoved in his mouth fell and hit the pavement with an inaudible crash. Todd peered closer.
Todd M. Adeams. 6’ 2” Caucasian [sp?] male. Died yesterday, 12/12/92.
That was it? Where was all the detail? My family? The funeral date? he pondered frantically.
Yesterday.. if I died yesterday.. and today.. hectic, messy morning today.. Then that would mean..
Now, Todd went to the mid-morning mass every single sunday. He had never believed in guardian angels and he had always thought ghosts were stories of rubbish.
But it made a whole worldy difference when you join the dead.
“I’m a ghost,” Todd whispered, the newspaper drifting the ground beside the slimey meal bar as if a mysterious breeze had carried it there. “Oh Jesus, I’m a ghost!”