Smoke and Mirrors by Lesley Whyte

Being dead is a lot like being alive, really. Except you don't have to eat or sleep or go to the bathroom, and most people don't even notice you. It was that last part I found really galling, but I guess a lot of ghosts - or at least some of them - never got noticed when they were alive. Never got...no, that's fine. Just had to check the grammar, didn't sound quite right.

I've always been noticed. Even as a little kid, I stood out. Probably because of my massive facial deformity. No, I'm kidding, I don't have a massive facial deformity. It's just a small one, really. Sorry, I couldn't resist. No facial deformities at all, I've just always been noticeable. I was the star of the family, always towering over Becky, and that didn't change when I started school and found a new audience. People didn't always like me, but they knew who I was. They had an opinion about me.

I liked it, most of the time. It made me feel important - and feeling important is important, because if death has taught me one thing, it's that nobody actually IS important. Sometimes, though, I'd complain about it and people would always tell me I was lucky, that it was awful on the other end of the spectrum. I'd never know what it was like to not be noticed. So I shut up moaning about it, because I really hated being told I was lucky.

Thing is, now nobody notices me and I'm kind of enjoying it. It's peaceful. Much better than being hated, that's for sure. I guess the problem is that people always want what they don't have. Like, Becky has this really flat, fine hair. Straight as anything, so low maintenance. But she was always saying she wanted my curly mess of hair. Like she didn't even know how much of a hassle it was. I always wanted her hair. It was the only thing of hers I wanted, that's for damn sure.