The Face in the Mirror

Chapter Two

The next day, Jasmine comes home, seemingly upbeat.

"What's up?" I ask. She ignores me, turning her back to me. She plugs her iPhone into her speaker, and loud pop music starts flowing through the room. I plug my ears, groaning. I always hated pop music, and Jasmine knows that.

She sits down on her bed, pulling out a drawing pad. She starts scribbling another picture, humming along to the obnoxious song.

"I said, what's up?" I repeat, and she doesn't answer me. I sigh, frustrated. Why can't she pay attention to me for two seconds?

I sit on the bed beside her and tap her leg. "Jasmineeeee," I say. She sighs, and looks up at me.

"What?" she snaps, obviously annoyed.

"Well, rawr," I say, grinning, "somebody's a little snappy today."

"What do you want?" she repeats, losing patience.

"Okay, okay, I just wanted to ask how your day went."

She rolls her eyes, and I want to slap her. What's with her snobby attitude? I remember when she was the perfect image of a perfect teenage girl. Now, she's just annoying. "Fine. Why do you care?"

That was like a slap to the face. "Jasmine, we're sisters," I say, hurt. "I should be able to know what's going on in your life." 

She rolls her eyes yet again, and I supress the urge to punch her artificially tanned face. This is not the Jasmine I know. The Jasmine I know is smart, funny, beautiful, and perfect. This is some snob who thinks she's better than everyone else. "You're so stupid," she spits.

"What do you mean?" I respond, trying not to let her know how much that hurt me.

"Nothing. Just- just go away."

"Tell me. Don't say something and then just pretend nothing happened."

"You're not real."

A look of hurt is stamped across my face. "W-What?" I ask in disbelief.

"You're. Not. Real." she repeats, saying it slowly.

"Well- of course I am! What makes you think I'm not?" A tear falls down my cheek.

She pauses. "I'm too old to pretend you're still here."

"But-- but I am still here! I never left." Another tear.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, really. I've really experienced 'paranormal activity' since I was freaking five."

I try to ignore her, but it's impossible. She's been my only friend since I died, and now I don't even have her. She doesn't believe I'm real anymore.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I don't understand anything. For 12 years, I've done nothing but sit around all day. Maybe things have changed since I was alive.

With all these awful, negative things running through my mind, I do the unthinkable.

I turn away from Jasmine, and I walk out the door. Without pausing, I leave our house, and I go somewhere I never thought I'd go again.

I go to place I died.

____________________________________________________________

The place I died is just a small little hospital in the outskirts of town. To anyone passing by, it's pathetic, really; rusted walls, squeaky doors, the laughingstock of hospitals. But, to me, it is a beautiful place.

You'd think I'd hate the place I died. But, no, to me it is my favorite place to be. I'll walk through the abandoned hallways for hours, maybe days at a time. I'll breathe in the smell, the last smell that I experienced while I was living. It's a nostalgic feeling, one I want to experience always. 

But I can't experience it-- not really. All I'm feeling now are fantom memories. They're not real. Just like me.

Maybe Jasmine was right. Maybe I wasn't real. After all, how can this be real? I just stumble along forever, only able to dream, never able to experience.

I have a million dreams, all of which could be experienced by living. But, things don't go the way you want them to-- I've learned that. Still, though I know it's demented, though I know it's unrealistic, it's stupid, every day I dream of living again.

I hear other restless sprits here, too. I can't be the only person who died in a hospital, after all. The hallways are filled with a twisted chrous of moans and screams. I cover my ears. That was the worst part about this place-- all the other miserable people. It makes you feel so insignificant, so unimportant, realizing there are millions of people just like you.

Hospitals, graveyards, jails-- they're all very dangerous places. On top of there being hundreds of angry and depressed ghosts, there are also... Other things.

I shiver. I don't want to think about that right now. There's a huge chance that there's something here that could ruin my life even more than it's already ruined. They could put me through an eternity of torture... So they could live again.

I could've been one of those. If I had chosen to be full of hate, if I had chosen to fight to live again, then I'd be as evil as they are. 

They are the hellions, the goblins, the little devils. They are the ones who posses people, who destroy houses and towns and kill people. Ghosts-- we just sit around all day and cry. But, the demons, they are the evil ones.

They are the ones that killed me.