Sin (Wattys Winner)

Chapter 04

I looked up. The trunk was obviously not as smooth as it had first appeared. Knots as big as fists were digging their knuckles into my back and no amount of squirming on my part could ease the discomfort. Even so, I didn't bother standing or moving away. I supposed I could have lain on the ground, but I knew I'd have felt exposed. With my back against the bark, as much as the bark tried to put me off, at least I felt I had some protection. Protection from what, I didn't know. I was fairly sure that, if I didn't know where I was then Dr. Connors and the rest of the 'sane' world wouldn't know either. That was unless they'd subcutaneously implanted a tracking chip somewhere on my body and satellites were currently spinning across the sky, homing in on my location so the hounds could come a-calling.

Oh my, wee doggy, what big teeth you have!

All the better to tear you limb from juicy limb!

"Always one for melodramatics, eh?" Joy commented. Her voice was like warm chocolate, velvety and smooth and, no doubt, high in calories.

"Oh," I said, smiling, "you know me. Why make a molehill out of a mountain?"

Joy was standing in front of me, looking much the same as the last time I'd seen her. Her hair was just past her shoulders, brown with blonde streaks that were not-so-fresh out of the bottle. Her eyes sparkled their usual green, smiling even when her mouth frowned. She seemed taller than I remembered, but then I was slouched against a tree that was doing its best to make sure I never stood straight again, and she was...

... She was dead.

"You're dead," I said, matter of factly.

"You're not looking so good yourself, mister," she said. "At least I can make a clean job of it, not like some I could mention."

I assumed, by that little comment, that she meant me. Joy had a habit of, where I'd make jokes, she'd make jibes. Usually it was all in good humour, just a different slice of the funny pie to the one I tended to munch, but I couldn't always tell if she was being serious or not. She looked fairly stern right at that moment.

"Hey," I defended, "I tried. It's not my fault I didn't end up where I wanted."

It sounded like I was sulking - a petulant child with my bottom lip dragging the floor. I knew Joy was only teasing, but I couldn't help it. Perhaps I was just pissed off with myself. Perhaps I was just pissed off with the world.

"Anyway," I said, picking my lip off the floor in case it got dirty. "You're dead. You don't have an opinion."

"Who are you to say what I can and can't have?" she huffed. "You're still, even after that mightily pathetic attempt to do otherwise, alive. You don't know the first thing about being dead, so I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself, thank you very much."

"Sorry," I said, dropping my lip again. I was angry enough at myself, not least because a seagull and boy were gone thanks to me. Having my own sister picking on me was a shiver past too much.

"Sin," she said, the melted chocolate back in her voice, "Get a sense of humour."

I looked up at her again. She winked and I realised what I should have known anyway - she was teasing.

"So," I said. "Death hasn't dulled your edge then?"

"Not a bit," she replied. She stepped to my side and sank down to the ground beside me. Her movements were as fluid as if she'd poured herself. I imagined the whole cast of the Royal Ballet performing Swan Lake, or some other famous ballet dancing show thing (I wasn't up on my classical dance) pirouetting through her body. Grace would have been an appropriate name for her, but then so would Sarcky Cow.