Phantom [h.s]

One

Death.

It's only a five letter word. Two vowels, consonants three, one syllable. What's the exact definition? Is there an exact definition?

If you were to flip open a dictionary and skim the pages for the word death, you might find something like this

death [deth]

noun

1. The act of dying: cessation of life.

2. The permanent ending of vital processes in a cell or tissue.

3. The action or fact of dying or being killed.

And it goes on to explain how the word death could be used to personify the destroyer of life, etcetera. But that's so technical, so researched and fact based. What is death, really? Is it only the end of life?

Well, none of us would know. None of us have been dead before, and, although some of us can say we've skimmed the border between life and death, none of us have been truly dead. What does it feel like? Is it peaceful, it is bliss?

Thoughts like these torment me day and night. Mostly questions, wonderings about what it's like to cross to the other side. And for a long time, I wished I could cross over, and leave this world behind. If there's is a heaven and hell, heaven and death is most certainly life is hell.

That, I suppose, is the true reason why we've moved to Castle Hill, Washington from Sacramento, California. My morbid thoughts on taking my life pushover scared my pushover parents, so they packed their bags and decided we needed to move across two whole states to escape the demons that burned inside of me back in California.

As If they still don't burn within me in this small, cold town.

"Jane. Jane, are you listening?"

I look over at my mother who stands with her hands on her hips, her dark hair thrown into a messy up-do.

"Unpack these plates. They can go in That cupboard over there."

I reluctantly comply, sliding the box across the counter and pulling out stacks of white china.

"This house is weird," I remark wrinkling my nose at the layer of dust coating the shelves inside the cabinet.

"It's not weird, it's historic. It was built in 1923, you know."

I sigh, carefully arranging the plates.

It's not hard to believe this house is roughly ninety one years old. The exterior is made of grey stone, and I'm sure it was highly expensive in its day. It's mansion sized, which is way too large for three people, but my fathers happens to be obsessed with things antique-homes included. Even if said home is two miles from the rest of the town, and off a dirt road.