After Death

The Second Minute

A/n: Good afternoon readers. So sorry this took me so long. Honestly I just wanted to make it perfect, because that's what every single one of my readers deserves. Make sure to follow me if you're liking the story and if you want more content like it.

Thanks for being so patient.

~~~~

I breathe slowly, determined to keep my calm. I can't remember the last time I was here. Just images. Constant images.

My parents walk up the steps as two people come out the front door. An older woman with curling gray hair and large glasses. She was with an older man that had gray-black hair and a cane at his side.

I blinked and they were gone. Things blurred again as images flashed by. And then, I sat up and took a deep breath.

I was in a pastel green bedroom, on a quilted bed. The walls were painted in long strands of daisies, going from the soft carpet to the ceiling.

My grandmother came in. Her eyes and smile were softer than when I had seen her last, after we fled the city.

She beckoned to me, opening the door wider. I watched her out of curiosity as black strands of hair fell in my face. She smiled again and left, leaving the door wide open. The outside hall smelled like baking cookies

I stood slowly, watching my feet. Somehow, I didn't have to look around to know that the old mirror would be there. I had the cheeks of a child. My complexion was more like my father's, the color of honey butter. Coal black eyes just barely hidden by choppy black hair cut short to my chin.

I blinked. I'd forgotten what I'd looked like but I knew this wasn't it. It wasn't complete.

Then, everything blurred again. I was still in the pastel green bedroom. But I looked older, I felt older. I blinked, suddenly startled by a realization. What's my name?

My mother came in. She was older as well, her brown hair streaked with gray. She beckoned to me just as my grandma had the last time I was here.

I followed her without bothering to look in the mirror this time. The hallway was short, painted a pale beige color with crown molding along the walls. The air smells  like cookie dough. Just a lingering smell though. Not as strong as it should be.

I walked out into a small living room. Soft blue sofas on top of plush brown and green rugs. The walls were painted a robins blue and the room had old wooden furniture everywhere.

People were gathered across the plush vintage sofas. They were dressed in black, all somber and quiet. Some women had veils over their faces. Nobody spoke. Finally, a man dressed like a preacher called everyone out to the front yard.

My mother smiled sadly at me and went to join my father. He also looked older, gray streaked in through his dark black hair. He put his arm around both of us and led out the front door.

The yard was large and open to the sole access road. Exactly the way I remembered it last time. I took the porch steps fast, staring at a scene that I'd looked upon before, when this had all started.

Twin black caskets sat beside two freshly dug holes. The preacher stood off to the side with his hands clasped over a small bible. The crowd gathered round and I followed my father to the side near the preacher.

Behind the caskets was a poster size print out of a photo. My grandparents.

I knew when they were taken. Summer of 2007. When we went to California for a week at the beach. They were both smiling, standing along the sandy beach.

Tears filled my eyes. I remembered this day. Their funeral.

I looked around. I had to be dreaming. I just needed a trigger to wake me up. I needed to know my name.

I watched the preacher as he spoke through the service. They were loved dearly and will be sorely missed.

My mother moved forward to say a few words about her parents. She spoke about how they'd lovingly raised her. They were both always so great, especially with their granddaughter-

My mother's voice faded out as I remembered something else. Bright lights in my face, people rushing away from me, being pushed away. Total chaos.

Her voice came back into focus as she finished. My eyes widened. She'd said my name and I hadn't heard it.

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and wiped my palms on my black dress once more.

My parents led me back inside as the mourners dispersed, leaving the twin black caskets alone with the photographs of the people in them.

I followed. Not really seeing or hearing anything for the first time.

Down the familiar hallway, into the pastel green bedroom. I was just now realizing. The color of the walls matched my grandmother's eyes.

I collapsed into bed and sobbed. My parents both sat beside me, whispering softly and trying to get me to calm down. A tear slipped down my mom's face as she squeezed her eyes shut to block it out. The same way I did when I was sad. We were very much alike in that way.

I'm sure my parents thought the tears were out of grief. It wasn't. Of course I felt sad for them. But I felt it the same way you would feel sad for a friend losing a loved one. It didn't directly affect you, so you didn't feel total sadness the way they did.

I was scared and confused and frustrated. I needed to know the answers to all my questions I had.

What happened to me?

Where am I?

Who am I?