To Wake The Dead

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

To simply ignore the thought of someone in the house would be foolish. But I do it anyway.

It could have been anyone. A prank, Dad; anybody out there trying to freak me out. Tonight is not the night to worry about it so I won't. But I will find out who. Being human isn't about experiencing panic and pain, it's about the recovery from that fall.

My fear will be my drive.

I'm always in fear.

After a few minutes standing under the shower head, my thoughts draining into silhouettes in my brain, I finally pick up the shampoo. Water soaks into my hair as I wash and rinse each part of me, one by one. Constantly, I think about a mental list of things that need to be done, what order they need to be done in. Shower, Pluck, Hair, Makeup, Dress, Photos, Car, Prom.

And I'm done. Shaking off and squeezing out the left over liquid, the bathmat beneath my feet softens and I wrap the towel around myself. The pale blue of the fabric dissolves into a deep sapphire wherever the water touches, and the rest of the droplets roll off my skin. I step in front of the mirror.

The mirror is unkind to me.

There are shadows under my eyes, not harsh but unpleasant to me. The long, black strands of my hair are the colour of coal and tangled in an abundance of waves. To even look at them makes me shudder; thinking of running a comb through it. A few stray hairs from my eyebrows are evident, but can be easily plucked away. Fortunately, my complexion is clear, no blemishes or spots. I pluck the hairs and spray heat protect through my locks.

As the door to the bathroom opens, the steam is an avalanche, tumbling out at a fast pace. The radio is still a murmur, ascending from the kitchen. The sound of life is a reassuring one, as I make my way to my bedroom. In the furthest corner, I lift a mirror onto the desk, and gather my makeup and hair tools. Flicking a switch, the hair curlers beep to life, and I slip on a plain t-shirt and leggings. The buzzer from my phone fills the air, and I check it.

Scarlet's name has flashed up in front of my lock screen: a picture of me and her in December. I see that she has sent a picture, a snap of her with her makeup done. She already looks beautiful. Her message: "Stop moping and get a move on"

And so it begins.

"Are you ready?" Mom's voice is close to my ear, her cupped hands in front of my eyes. Not touching, but slighting grazing. I nod, as she adjusts my bobby pins, feeling where the majority of my crown hairs are pulled back. A few fall past my face, stroking my cheeks.

Am I ready? Maybe. After hours of dabbing, brushing and fitting, I am complete. The dress is on, my makeup and hair done. The curls are tickling at the bare skin of my back as we shuffle towards the mirror, making sure not to trip over my dress as we do so. My heart is beating a little faster, a blush growing on my cheeks.

For once, the universe has given me this allowance to forget my life, forget my hardships. To be an ordinary teenager. It's strange how all my life, I've wanted to escape the ordinary. However my ordinary is ghosts and overly attached boyfriends. We stop still, my breathing coming steadily now, my chest, rising and falling in perfect timing. Mom makes a sound of encouragement.

She uncovers my eyes.

I see a beautiful girl.

I blink a few times, and so does she, her eyelashes sweeping her high cheekbones. Her collarbones are evident, and her skin moves easily over them above the bodice of her gown. Although her complexion is pale, it is almost translucent: flawless and soft. The porcelain doll of a face is perfect and sharp, her chin slightly pointed. The amber of her eyes are wide and bright against a smoky backdrop. And her lips, parted slightly are a blood red; rich and shimmering.