Lidia Character Analysis

Fast-forward five years when Death-Cast came into the picture and suddenly everyone was awake at their own funerals. Having the chance to say goodbye before you die is an incredible opportunity, but isn’t that time better spent actually living? Maybe I would feel differently if I could count on people showing up to my funeral. If I had more friends than I do fingers.

Rufus E. (3:19 a.m.): Hey, Mateo. Nice hat.

He not only responded, but he likes my Luigi hat from my profile picture. He’s already connecting to the person I want to become.

But I wasn’t honest with Rufus because, on a deep level, I do believe partying on the train is my kind of scene. It’s just that the fear of disappointing others or making a fool of myself always wins.

This is Penny’s beginning. And one day she’ll find herself on the terrible end of a Death-Cast call and it sucks how we’re all being raised to die. Yes, we live, or we’re given the chance to, at least, but sometimes living is hard and complicated because of fear.

Twelve hours ago I received the phone call telling me I’m going to die today. In my own Mateo way, I’ve said tons of goodbyes already [...] but the most important goodbye is the one I said to Past Mateo, who I left behind at home when my Last Friend accompanied me into a world that has it out for us. Rufus has done so much for me and I’m here to help him confront any demons following him [...]

“Welcome to the World Travel Arena. Sorry to lose you three.”

“I’m not dying,” Lidia corrects.

“Oh. Cost for guests is going to be one hundred dollars,” the teller says. He looks at me and Rufus. “Suggested donation is one dollar for Deckers.”

I pay for all our tickets, donating an extra couple hundred dollars in the hope that the arena remains open for many, many years.

“What am I going to do without you?”

This loaded question is the reason I didn’t want anyone to know I was dying. There are questions I can’t answer. I cannot tell you how you will survive without me. I cannot tell you how to mourn me. I cannot convince you to not feel guilty if you forget the anniversary of my death, or if you realize days or weeks or months have gone by without thinking about me.

I just want you to live.

Fast-forward five years when Death-Cast came into the picture and suddenly everyone was awake at their own funerals. Having the chance to say goodbye before you die is an incredible opportunity, but isn’t that time better spent actually living? Maybe I would feel differently if I could count on people showing up to my funeral. If I had more friends than I do fingers.

Rufus E. (3:19 a.m.): Hey, Mateo. Nice hat.

He not only responded, but he likes my Luigi hat from my profile picture. He’s already connecting to the person I want to become.

But I wasn’t honest with Rufus because, on a deep level, I do believe partying on the train is my kind of scene. It’s just that the fear of disappointing others or making a fool of myself always wins.

This is Penny’s beginning. And one day she’ll find herself on the terrible end of a Death-Cast call and it sucks how we’re all being raised to die. Yes, we live, or we’re given the chance to, at least, but sometimes living is hard and complicated because of fear.

Twelve hours ago I received the phone call telling me I’m going to die today. In my own Mateo way, I’ve said tons of goodbyes already [...] but the most important goodbye is the one I said to Past Mateo, who I left behind at home when my Last Friend accompanied me into a world that has it out for us. Rufus has done so much for me and I’m here to help him confront any demons following him [...]

“Welcome to the World Travel Arena. Sorry to lose you three.”

“I’m not dying,” Lidia corrects.

“Oh. Cost for guests is going to be one hundred dollars,” the teller says. He looks at me and Rufus. “Suggested donation is one dollar for Deckers.”

I pay for all our tickets, donating an extra couple hundred dollars in the hope that the arena remains open for many, many years.

“What am I going to do without you?”

This loaded question is the reason I didn’t want anyone to know I was dying. There are questions I can’t answer. I cannot tell you how you will survive without me. I cannot tell you how to mourn me. I cannot convince you to not feel guilty if you forget the anniversary of my death, or if you realize days or weeks or months have gone by without thinking about me.

I just want you to live.