UNCLE THOMAS POV
I walk home slowly, pain running up my back each step I took. I sigh.
I finally arrived home. I take my key out of my back pocket and unlock the door.
I roll back my aching shoulder as I walked inside. "Uncle T!" I hear Laylana yelp. She came running up to me at full speed, wrapping her arms around me. I rub her hair in attempt to calm her down. "What is it?" I ask. She seemed really concerned. "You left and I didn't know where you went," she explained, not letting go, "you worried me because I didn't know why you were cry-" she shut her mouth immediately. I felt my heart skip a beat. 'She saw me crying?'
She let go of me quickly. "I just- I mean, I- I was just," she stuttered. "Hey," I say softly, putting my hand on her shoulder, "It's okay." She smiled at me, then like a switch was pulled, her expression changed to anger. I look at her, wondering if I had done something wrong. "What's the matter?" I question. "You didn't finish my omelet," she says, grinning again. We both start to laugh. 'Maybe I am happy.' I smile.
LAYLANA POV: an hour before...
'Where did he go? He's never left without telling me before,' I wonder, 'I guess this is the time to use my camera again.' I return to my room, worrying about my uncle. The camera sat on my bed, almost calling me to it. My hands wrap around it ever so gently, and I look through the lens.
"I'm back," I say. The room was still empty though. Before I go anywhere, I grab a small handbag with a shoulder strap to carry my camera in, making sure to pack it snugly inside so it won't fall out. I turn to go back downstairs. The living room was vacant as well, leaving me with little or nothing to do. I let out a tired sigh, and try to go outside.
I gasp. There are so many people- uh, spirits walking around like it was a normal day. Some were laughing and talking, others were picking weeds from gardens, a few were even on their phones! They all looked terrible! Sick and old and weary and pale. They were definitely dead, especially since I'd never seen any of these people before.
"What?" I wonder aloud. "You must be new here," I hear a voice say. I turn around, and an old woman wearing a pale blue sundress and an apron stood behind me. She smiles a gentle smile, and tipping her garden hat, extends her hand. "I'm April." "I return the smile, and reach to shake her hand. 'What if it goes through?' I suddenly remind myself. I gasp as she grabs my hand and gives it a firm shake. "What's your name?"
"Laylana."
"What a pretty name for a young, pretty girl." She chuckled. I smiled and blushed. I never really get compliments. She was such a sweet person. I felt a wave of sadness to think she passed away before I got to meet her. My smile faded a little.
"Why don't you come inside?" she asked, "I have some lemonade left over. Would you like some?" I grinned. I've always loved lemonade. "Yes, ma'am!" I say excitedly. She laughed, "Come on in then, Laylana." She motioned for me to follow her as she turned on her heels and walked the other way.
I followed her to a sky blue house, old and creaky. She went up the steps and was about to open the door. 'Wait, doesn't Mrs.Little live here?' I wonder. She reaches for the door handle. "Wait!" I call to Miss April. She turns around, and smiles, lowering her hand a bit. "What's wrong, dear?"
"Doesn't Mrs.Little live here?"
"Who's that dear?"
"She's the town's bank manager," I say looking at my shoes. "Oh, no sweetie, you must be mistaken." She giggled, "The town's bank manager is Sean Batson. This is where I live, and I'm not sure if I know a Mrs.Little." She opened the door to the house, entering without saying another word.
I charge up the stairs and prepared to apologize for entering her home. I breathe a sigh of relief. She wasn't here right now, so that bought us some time. I look around confused. Not a few seconds later, Miss April came in with lemonade as yellow as the sun. She carried a glass(with ice of course) in her other hand and set it on the counter in the kitchen. I swallowed, realizing how thirsty I was.
She poured the drink as carefully as she could, but her hands were extremely shaky. A little splashed on the counter. "Deadgummit," she muttered under her breath. She looked up at me and smiled, "I'm sorry dear, I'm not as steady as I used to be." She chuckled. "I'll go get a paper towel," I say, jogging into the kitchen where the towels were hanging.
I didn't say anything as she cleaned up the mess. She sighed and glanced at me. I tried to make her feel better by flashing a smile. She grinned back, but I could tell she wasn't in the mood.
We sit down at the table, and I drink silently as she fiddles with her thumbs.
In a few minutes, I finish my lemonade and set down the glass. "Thank you, so much," I say kindly. Smiling, she waves a 'Oh it was nothing' motion with her hand. "That's fine," she laughed, "I love children. I always wanted one." She looked down, and her grin faded a little. I put my hand on hers, which was resting on the table, and give her a small reassuring squeeze. "It's okay," I replied, "It could always be worse." She gave me a tired smile. Ms.April stood up and brushed off her dress.
She made her way to the living room, grabbing the duster and started dusting pictures that weren't hers. I wonder what she's doing, watching her dust Mrs.Little's photos. Photos of her and her husband smiling and laughing, wedding photos, and portraits. I suddenly felt worried for her.
"Miss April?" I ask. She turns her head in my direction enough to see me from the corner of her eye. "Yes dear?"
"May I ask a question of you?"
She laughed softly and went back to dusting, "Of course you may."
I hesitate, but continue anyway. "How did you die?"
She turned towards me with a concerned and confused look. "What do you mean deary?" she asks, turning her full attention on me. "I'm not dead."
