Afterthen

Chapter 1

// Hi hi hi ! This is the first ever story I've seriously written and compiled, not just a bunch of prompts and dialouges smh. It might take me a while to finish this because that writer's block just loves me, u kno ? But I'll try to update as often as possible. Soooo, yea, hello to anyone reading this (hopefully), and hope ya like it ? :D //

C H A P T E R
1

The stars shine wildly, freckles of luminosity sprinkled across the grave, night sky. If you listen closely, you may catch the gentle waves of wind ripping through the cluster of trees surrounded. Hear the eerie impression of the field of the departed on a gloomy, Saturday night. Take note of the hushed whispers of those whose lives have been taken, whether unjustly or in tranquility. Those souls who've sprang forth from their physical frames to wander around, waiting for their next grasp of life.

Some reckon when their corpses have been laid to rest underneath the muddy soil, their life forces will be absorbed by the very earth embracing them, and so on will they be given to another form. Some say there is nothing to be seen after death, some say there's a safe haven somewhere up there, a place to be with a so-called God.

What do I believe?

What do you believe?

Stay in one place, though. At the very present, people from all over the world are on about doing various activities, experiencing the same events, or polar opposites of it.

Hundreds, thousands, millions, getting through the harsh reality of life with tears, blood and sweat. Being patient as they work day after day, for that tiny wedge of currency to feed their children and their beloved, to survive for one more day. Some, found at the edge, holding on to that sliver of hope that maybe, tomorrow might prove to be better. There are those spening their days lounging in the comforts of their roofs, idly scrolling through their lit rectangle screens, seemingly unbothered with what's happening out there.

Then, here, in this expansive graveyard, sits a moderate-sized cottage in which a waning woman lays on her deathbed. A cerulean blue-haired girl perches on a chair beside her dying mother, gripping her hands with gentle firmness. Her eyes land on anywhere but her mother, her once full of life, vibrant mother. Now, all that's left is a reminder of that woman, extinguished of its vigorous flame and paling like a skeleton.

The young daughter catches a glimpse of the grandfather clock across from her. Tik-Tok, Tik-Tok. She could almost hear it mocking her, almost see a grinning face as it waits for the inevitable loss of life. 2:50 in the morning. How long has it been since her mother closed her eyes?

The clutch on her latte-brown palm tightens, "I can feel him, Amara," the woman chokes out.

"I can sense him running around, agitated, not knowing where to go. Something's wrong." She opens her eyes and gazes intently at her only child. Amara knows what she is speaking about–her recently deceased father. His passing's the second time ever she's seen someone die. She still hasn't been over the first one, and it won't be long until an unforgettable third one.

"Ma, what do you mean?" Amara pleads, she doesn't want this to be her mother's last words. Keep her talking, maybe she'll snap out of the sickness. Ridiculous.

"Honey, I..I need you to know something about our family," the woman coughed painfully, "Your father's fa-family has been guarding the Afterlife for generations."

Amara stares blankly at her. What is she going on about now? "Ma, it's okay..You're gonna be okay, all right?" She releases a sob, gripping the bedsheets and trying to not break down.

Her mother shakes her head weakly, "I can't explain it well, seeing me." She laughed but ended in another sore cough. "Ask Wylan. He'll know.."

Amara lightly gasps when her mother's breathing gets smaller and smaller, "Ma, you'll..you'll be okay..don't worry, okay?" She closes her eyes and lays her head down at her mother's stomach.

"Amara..find it..and put it back, okay? I-I love y..." Amara nods despite the lack of understanding, no longer hearing her mother's breathing. A tear begins to form on her eye, one lone droplet before the sorrowful storm. She checks again, for one last time, and hears nothing, nothing but the grandfather's clock, finally satisfied.

Tik-Tok. Tik-Tok.