Deado

"I... I'm dead?" I whispered, as if afraid that speaking too loudly would confirm my fears. I turned to face my mom in shock. "So you're dead too?" My mom just smiled at me and shook her head slightly, indicating that she was not. Does that mean I'm the only one who's dead? I felt relieved that my mom was still alive, but at the same time, a twinge of indignation tickled my nose. "I...," I whimpered, "I don't want to be dead alone, waah." Suddenly, a soft tinkling of laughter caught me by surprise. I turned to my mom and saw her shoulders delicately shaking, her eyes curved like a crescent moon—she was beautiful. I let go of her hand. My mom didn't have delicate laughter. She had a loud laugh, the kind you hear in a bar. Dad always said she sounded like a car engine. But the woman in front of me sounded nothing like a drunken man or a busted old vehicle. "Who are you?" I asked, shifting further away. "What?" The laughter vanished from her eyes, replaced by a stern and reproachful gaze. I glared back at her, angry, fuming. How dare she impersonate my mom! "You have two rubber ears, and I think they work just fine, so I won't repeat myself," I crossed my arms. The woman gave me a look and chuckled. "You're one rude little b*tch." I bristled at the insult. "F*ck you," I spat. "Watch your mouth, little girl. You are not dead, but I can easily change that tiny detail," she said, smoothing her flowing white skirt. Her face displayed a kind smile, despite the fact that she had just threatened to kill me. But I wisely chose to keep my mouth shut. As I remained silent, she smiled again. "As I have mentioned, you, my little spitfire, are not dead... but you will be if you don't get back to your body within an hour's time." What? My mouth hung open in surprise. "You're kidding, right?" "I never kid, little girl!" "Then why are you wearing my mother's skin? Why are you pretending to be her?" I interrogated her. She was silent for a brief moment, then turned her brown, soulful eyes to stare at me. "Who says I'm wearing her skin? Or pretending to be her?" She raised a hand to touch her cheek, then sighed—a deep, mournful sigh that raised the fine hairs on my skin. I shivered. "Then why do you look like her?" She smiled, back to her cheerful self. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" I turned around, half expecting to find my mom behind me. But there was no one. A short distance away, May sat cross-legged beside my body, her eyes tightly shut. Was she trying to revive me? I felt a pull, a gentle breeze pushing me toward my body. However, an iron grip caught my arm and held me in place. I turned to the woman who looked like my mom. "What the hell are you doing?" "Didn't you want the Eyes?" "Eyes?" I hissed. "Are you crazy, old lady?" "What you came here for," she continued, "don't you want it anymore?" What I came... Oh, the glasses? I tried to yank my arm away. "I still need them, but I can't get them if you don't let go!" She released her hold, and I tumbled unceremoniously to the ground. I stood up at once and glared at her. She ignored me and pointed to a tree not far away. It was burning like the rest of the forest, but the fire had a whiter glow to it. "That is...?" I began. "You will find the eyes there," she sighed. "Oh, thanks... I guess." She chuckled. "Ah, you are so much like her," she turned to me. "Unwilling to admit a favor, unwilling to say thank you." "Well, run along, little girl. Time is running out, and you have less than forty minutes to retrieve them and return to your body." I shook my head in confusion. "Huh?" She eyed me with pity. "He didn't tell you? Typical," she scoffed. "Only a 'deado' spirit can retrieve the eyes from the host." *** As I walked into the tree, I didn't feel the heat or burst into flames, which was a relief. I didn't fancy being on fire while searching for the glasses. The interior was spacious and dark, with a single speck of light in the distance guiding my path. Somehow, I wished the inside was on fire as well. At least then, I'd be able to see. It felt creepy walking in this strange place with only a barely illuminating source of light. I was prepared to attack any creature foolish enough to give me a jump scare! After what felt like hours of walking, I finally got close enough to see that the light came from a small, glowing red box floating in mid-air. That must be where the glasses were. I grinned in triumph, finally! And I rushed forward. But before I could take ten steps, "Bam!" I smacked right into a barrier, landing on my backside with a painful thud. I rubbed my aching behind and looked up. There was nothing in front of me. I knelt down and slowly stretched my hand, feeling the area. Then my fingers scraped against something smooth and solid—an invisible wall. I was stunned by the sudden obstacle. I had never felt such a strong urge to cry as I did then. Sitting on the floor and staring at the box right in front of me that I couldn't touch, a wave of heat washed over me. And I did something I hadn't done in a long while. I curled up and cried—from frustration, anger, and pure exhaustion. The tears flowed freely down my face, dampening the ground beneath me. Each sob released the pent-up emotions that had been building since I discovered our parents were missing. It felt like a release, a purging of the overwhelming feelings that had consumed me.