She stared at her hands.
Am I dead?
She turned her arms this way and that. Examined herself. Poked and prodded. She didn't feel any different. The ground was still as hard.
But...
The grass she was sitting on was poking through her hand. She quickly stood. Had it gone through her when she was sitting? She studied the grass. To her dismay, it didn't look the least bit bent. She watched a fly buzz by and reached a hand up, only for it to pass through.
She kicked at a pebble. It wobbled a couple of inches away.
Her lip wobbled, too.
What kind of ghost am I? If I'm dead, wouldn't I be able to go through everything? Isn't that what ghosts did? Aren't I supposed to be able to pass through walls and stuff?
Another tear rolled down. She couldn't even get being dead right.