This is a piece about Hector after he died. Depending on what people think, I may keep going, adding more to what Hector did in the following 75+ years. Including what it was like to find out Imelda died, because you know he'd end up trying to see her.

The pain overshadowed the panic.

Clearly it was severe, the blinding pierce of internal convulsions, how his very insides seemed to twist and tear. While he would like to believe his last thoughts were pure of heart and visions were of his beloved familia, Hector could not make due to even comprehend anything but the discomfort. Dust burned his eyes as he tried to shift on that road, the sounds of Ernesto's voice as comforting as he could be, all of these were all the senses he could recall. When it all went black, Hector knew it was final.

The first day being dead was a shadow, he barely recalled much of what occurred. Not all of the deceased went directly to the Land of the Dead, some wandered upon their first days of death. Ones who's souls died so suddenly, with no expectation or warning were typically the ones to suffer through a wandering purgatory, before others could find them. Luckily ( loose term ) for Hector he had died close by a graveyard, where a hawk shaped alebrije took him under wing; literally.

There was a shock to his system the moment he finally realized that it was no illusion. No deluded visions, he could see colors and hear just as if he were alive, but there was emptiness in places where he used to need fulfillment. No hunger came, no exhaustion. While others around him, the 'lost souls' whom shared areas of dwelling gave advice and assurance, Hector was abnormally confused and shocked by his sudden death. In reflection, he hated himself for the fact that for the first week he could not remember his wife nor child.

For that time he was among the ones who's families had abandoned or forgot them; where they all only had each other. Without even remembering his own name, there was nothing for him to rely on, nor a face recognizable when all he could see were skeletons.

Coco's voice came to him first. A memory. While he sat against the wooden planks of the lowest point of the piers staring into the mirrored water, her tiny song came to his aching head. Trying to reclaim some of his life beforehand had been a constant nightmare - all he knew was music, the way guitar strings felt against his fingertips and a best friend who had seen him die. But a song, his song, was the first beacon of light since he had taken placement in the Land of the Dead. A charming, dear voice singing along with her Papa when he had to leave her for his work. If the dead had abilities to cry, tears would come without question. Bony fingers clutched the rib-cage where a heart had once been, while it all came flooding back.

Younger years, courting his preciosa Imelda and serenading her while in turn becoming a willing victim to her alluring voice. Coco's first steps, how timid she had been and yet the fire of her mother's heart taking over swiftly. What he wouldn't give to hold her again, to cradle her as she slept and listen to Imelda as she would hum lullabies to hush them all to tranquil sleep. It was all he wanted, it was why he wanted to go home.

And now he never would.

Día de Muertos was approaching months after he had first died. Acceptance of his predicament had come to full light; while he could still be bitter about the inability to tell his family how much he loved them, at the least Hector could come to the world of the living for one night a year. It would be enough to find his beloved Coco dancing with her Mama, while music flooded their home as it often did before. He could be there in spirit. He could show his love the best way he could.

A once removed tío of his mother's side had found him in the Land of the Dead, the only family Hector ever found on the Rivera heritage, as the rest had been so scattered by various issues and deaths. Including the revolution which took place so many years before his own birth. Due to the one family member he did have, at the very least, Hector could learn what he could about the world they now survived in.

Hector waited patiently to cross the bridge, the nerves he once could conquer with a strum of guitar bubbling up to the very core of his bones. After all, it would all be still fresh, his death. Perhaps there would be no music, simply the sad faces of his family while he looked on and unable to embrace them with any amount of warmth. Imagining his dear Coco with tears... it broke him more it lingered.

"Hola, is this your first time?" He must have looked the part. The kind woman seemed cheerful enough, motioning for him to approach as it was his turn.

It had taken him a few weeks to really accept that he was a skeleton just like everyone else. "Sí señora, gracias. I uh, want to visit my family."

"Of course you do! Just stand there, I'll make sure you're on your families ofrenda."

Hector did as told, waiting with eyes wide. For the first time since his death, he was feeling happy. Content. All he needed to do now was take a walk and he'd be with the ones he loved more than anything in the world.

"Oh no, I am so sorry señor. You are not on the ofrenda."

"Qué? No, no, I should be there - check again."

Imelda would never abandon his memory, not when he had vowed to love her and Coco until the end of all time. It could have been a mistake, perhaps whatever these bridges used was faulty and she'd soon allow -

"Afraid not. Without your picture on the ofrenda, you cannot go across the bridge."

Struggling to comprehend the situation, it took Hector several minutes before he had to be forcibly moved from the spot. A dozen and more thoughts were going through his mind as he stumbled around towards his 'home', how surely Ernesto would have informed his family of his death. Perhaps they were still so suffering from the shock just as he, they misplaced the family photo. While his tío offered what he could, Hector didn't know what else to do. For the moment, he was stuck without a soul to accept his presence.

Once more, he wanted to weep and yet even that simple indulgence would be denied.