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1.) Awake

        Screams ensued when Kara lifted her arms above her head to stretch out the creak in her joints. Her eyes shot open, but were then assaulted by unexpected daylight, and she shut them again. She couldn't understand why there were satin-covered walls that rose up on either side of her head or why her room smelled so heavily of flowers or why there were people in her room screaming, for heaven's sake. Though, her room never did echo quite as much as it did now. With one hand curled around the satin mystery wall to her right, she pulled herself up, earning satisfying pops all the way down her spine.  

        She was in a box at the front of the church that her mother used to attend. The tall, stained-glass windows painted the terrified looks of her audience in primary colors. A woman dressed in an acolyte's robe was backing slowly down the center aisle. There were several people in the front pew, including her mother and father, two friends and their families, and her grandmas from both sides of the family, all who were caught up in their own shock. A couple pews back she noticed her uncle and his alcoholic wife, and their three foster kids. There were other familiar faces dispersed across the rows, including ones from school and family reunions, but she couldn't name the relations.  

        Kara looked around. To the left of the box there were flowers, roses and orchids and lilies in reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks, and to the right there was a large canvas photo of her set up on an easel from the past summer, a casual photo they stole off of her Facebook, surrounded by a wreath of more matching flowers. The original was in color, but this one was in black and white. A friend had snapped a picture of her when she was holding a turtle with a smile so genuine that you could almost hear the laugh off the canvas. They cropped out the turtle, though, casting an illusion that a smile as wide as that came so naturally to someone so very shy. 

        Behind her, there was a lid covered in the same opalescent satin and framed by dark stained wood. It was hinged to the bottom of the box with golden plates and screws, glinting in the colored light cast by the windows. 

        "Why am I in a coffin?" she asked no one in particular, the puzzle pieces clicking together in her mind. Her voice came up her throat in dry fragments, making the question sound more like "mm I 'na coff'n?" 

        Kara's parents finally broke free of their shocked state, or maybe her brain stopped moving in slow motion, and they were at her side, her dad lifting her out of the coffin. They were both crying, her mom crying ugly hiccuping cries that burst forth in loud, guttural sobs, and her dad's face wet with unannounced tears. They surrounded her with their warm bodies, smothering her in a way that was only made comfortable with the knowledge that, somehow, she had just popped up out of her own coffin, and her parents were eternally grateful. Her mom kept running her hands over Kara's cheeks, testing for warmth where it must've recently been cold, and her dad's grip behind her shoulders and beneath her knees was a little too tight, pinching her sensitive skin underneath the pastel green cotton dress they had planned to bury her in.  

        Beyond the ring of parental attention, others had started to gather, peering between arms and over shoulders to confirm the impossible. Yes, Kara Biancardi was alive.  

        Paramedics burst into the double doors at the back of the sanctuary with a gurney in tow. They demanded to be given space so they were able to examine the phenomenon. Kara had only caught a glimpse of Riley's face before her father set her down on the front pew. Looking for him hadn't been in the foreground of her mind, but the expression on his face wasn't happiness or shock, like many of the others. It was stoic. He was ashen, the shadows on his face appearing more grey than warm. The liveliness of her best friend was vacant. Questions kept piling on top of each other. It wasn't clear to her how long she'd been asleep, or, well, dead. She wanted to ask, and then ask some more, but the kind men in navy jumpsuits were too close to her face, shining their pen lights in her eyes and taking her pulse and temperature.