(A/N: This story, another one of those derivative self-insert fics, takes place between chapters 5 and 6 of The Great Divorce, which I do not own. One of you reading this is surely going to know who the third character is, although you might not. Please don't harm me.)

As I walked along the river, at length I saw the Ghost of a girl sitting uncomfortably on a large stone. She was trying to dip her toe (for her feet were bare) into the water, but of course could not because it was too solid. The Ghost was very unhappy about this. After a minute or two she saw me, which seemed to cheer her up immensely.

"Oh, hello!" she said. "You look sensible. May I talk to you?"

It seemed she would whether I liked it or not, so I said yes.

"I was in a car crash, but I woke up in the town hospital and they told me I was alright. I went home and all the rest of the family had left; I think they wanted me to live on my own for a bit. It started out well enough, although the weather was gray all the time. Then I realized that the books and games and everything were all wrong, shallow as a puddle. So I went on the bus. But I've come here and you can't even dip your feet in the water."

I said politely, "That sounds like quite a state of affairs."

"It is," she agreed. There was a moment of silence; then she perceived something and turned her head. Following suit, I saw one of the Bright People walking towards her. He was in the shape of a tall young man with dark, unruly hair. He stopped a foot away from the ghost and said, "Comrade."
The ghost put her head in her hands and wailed. "You're not real!" she cried.

He shook his head. "I am here, and it'll be best for both of us if we accept it."

"I won't," she insisted. "I've never even met you, and unless you read my address that one time, I doubt you could find me."

"Child, look around you," the man countered. "People are shining and translucent. Everything is incredibly beautiful. The grass and water are like ice. Where do you think you are?"

"Hard grass? Please don't—" Suddenly, the words seemed to sink in. "The grass is hard! The grass is hard!" She burst into tears.

"Ah, there, there," he said.

"There, there? That's all you can say? I'm probably dead! You're definitely dead! He might be named Clive!"

I almost struck in to defend my name, but thought better of it. The Ghost was crying far too much for it to seem like a good idea to. During one especially great sob, a monarch butterfly came out of her mouth. It grew quickly once it was in the open air, and when the solid man took it into his arms to restrain it, the butterfly was the size of a large dog.

"Wonderful," the man muttered. "Your skepticism will take weeks. Come along, now. Do you know how much easier it would be to just let things take their natural course and let you stay in Hell?"

"Oh, shut up. The girl stood and wiped her eyes, then decided to cover them with her hands. As she followed the Bright Person, I heard her say, "You lied, you know. The grass is much softer here…"