The Face in the Mirror

Chapter One

Honestly, being dead isn't so bad.

I mean, I don't have to eat, or sleep, or listen to what anyone else says. Nobody can boss me around, because nobody knows I was here. Plus, I get to do whatever I want all day.

As Jasmine and I walk down the steps of our apartment and towards Grove City High School, I can see that Jasmine is smiling.

"What's up?" I whisper in her ear.

"Oh, nothing," she responds dreamily.

I scrunch up my nose, and whisper, "I don't believe you."

She giggles. "You're right," she said, "well, there's this one boy. His name is Dylan..."

"I knew it." We walk a little further, then Jasmine turns to face the high school. Without faltering, she waves her tiny hand and enters the building.

I sigh. I know I'll never be like her.  As much as I love my sister, every day I envy her. She gets to go to school, to have friends, to live, and all I get to do was run around, trapped here on Earth.

Over the years, I've sort of gotten used to the solitary-ness that comes with being a ghost. It's who I am. It's who I always will be.

If I had the choice to not be a ghost anymore, I'd take it without hesitation. But, things don't always work the way you want them to. My business here wasn't finished, so when I had died, I didn't even know I was gone... Until I saw my sister's horrified looks...

Until I saw my dead body.

I shiver and walked down the huge hill our high school sat on. As I trudge back to our house, I have a moment to think. Of course, I have a lot of time to think now. I have no responsibilities. I have no cares.

I have nothing to do.

Of course, I shouldn't be complaining. This-- this nonexistence is better than what some living people go through. Some people live in torture, being harassed and abused and God knows what else. Me, I just go through the same boring routine every day. Those people, they live in hell.

And if they're in hell, then I'm in purgatory.

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When Jasmine gets home from school, I don't expect her to do anything with me. She's like that-- some days, she'll be my best friend; we'll hang out all day, talk about basically everything, and my life will be perfect. Other days, she'll ignore me, as if I'm not even here.

Recently, I've been having more of the latter.

I'm not surprised when she waves me off and sits down with her homework. I'm not surprised, an hour later, that she waves me away while she texts her friends Lia and Elle, how she walks out the door, how she leaves me alone.

Oh, how I envy her. She gets to do everything she wants, she's little-miss-perfect; good grades, lead roles in the school musicals, captain of the soccer team, and, now, she has a boyfriend.

I sit on her bed and try to think rationally, though anger is still coursing through my nonexistent veins.

Why am I still here? I have no purpose left, unless my purpose is to be bored 24/7. I wish for just one day, I could be like Jasmine- have friends, things to do, people to be with, things to see. I wish for one day, just one day, I could be normal.

Of course, that isn't going to happen-- not now, not ever. I'm stuck here. I'll always be a ghost, until someone can lure me out of here. Knowing my luck, the person who brings me to the afterlife will be a psycho killer who wants my sister's blood.

I kick my feet and hum a song from when I was little. It used to be my favorite lullaby; I couldn't go to sleep without it. Mom and Jasmine got tired of that song, but I still love it. It brings back old memories, memories of when I wasn't bored and grumpy all the time.

"Can you hear the butterflies sing, the butterflies sing, the butterflies sing? Can you hear the butterflies sing, all night long?" I sing. The whole song is like that-- repetitive, cheery, and somewhat annoying. But, still, it's all I have left of when I was alive.

I remember my childhood very well for a seventeen year-old. Of course, it probably has to do with the fact that the last interesting thing I did was when I was five. Jasmine, she doesn't remember anything from when we were little. But I remember every second of it.

I remember the time that Jasmine cracked her head open when we were playing with the Halloween decorations, and she refused to tell Mom because it was past our bedtime, and we were supposed to be sleeping. I remember when I beat Jasmine at Monopoly, and she cried for three hours, saying I cheated, that we weren't playing with the houses. It's all the little things like that, the stupid, childish things, that keep me going.

It's all the little things that keep me up at night, wishing things would change.