The Inbetween | #ONC 2024

1. It's Do or Die... Again

"You want me to... eat it?" Amera asked. Her voice was barely audible in the noisy bar, but judging by the look on the woman's face standing in front of her, she definitely heard.

"Yes." The petite woman said, nodding vigorously. "It really would help me. I just want to imagine the taste one last time."

Amera rolled a salted almond between her gloved fingers. She hated nuts. The hardened texture annoyed her and no matter how long she chewed, it stayed in her mouth, like gravel in her teeth. The woman was still staring at her expectantly with such hope in her eyes. Her skin was like any human's, firm with a slight tan to it, but Amera knew if she tried to put the almond in the woman's hand, it would fall right through it. Her throat had a weird small bulge to it, like a hiccup that didn't quite run its course. She knew that the woman died from choking, on a nut no doubt.

She popped a few in her mouth and chewed. A sliver of a tear rolled down the woman's face and Amera did her best to keep her face blank. It's not the weirdest of requests and it brought the woman peace, so Amera's confusion didn't matter.

"Can I go see my family one last time?" She asked Amera.

"I'm sorry. Your spirit can't leave the bar, the best you can do for them is move on from this place."

The woman nodded slowly, the bulge in her throat bobbing with each nod.

A figure limped through the entrance, catching the attention of some of the ghosts in the bar, as well as Amera. He wore a plain white V neck and blue jeans that sported a rip in his left leg. Dried blood coated his skin by the rip, but that wasn't what caught her eye. She dragged her gaze over the purple spider web of veins that creeped out from under his shirt and stopped at his chin and wrists. Cause of death, cardiac arrest. Amera swallowed hard.

"Right this way," she said, turning her attention back to the woman, who was now frantically wiping tears from her cheeks.

They walked down a short hallway that sported a set of doors to the kitchen and Amera leaned her weight against the bathroom door to the left for it to open. The bar was her great grandfather's and had been quite the hangout spot for both the living and the dead back then. Since her parents passed in their thirties, it had since fallen into disrepair.

"Will it hurt?" The young woman asked, her face incredulous as she stared through the open doorway.

All Amera saw was a bathroom painted a vomit green colour, with a toilet and a sink with a mirror set in a rusted frame.

She thought about it, and the countless ghosts she had led through the doors, just like her mother had and her grandmother before her. They had all displayed signs of true joy or relief. If only she could experience that level of peace in her lifetime. "No." She smiled.

The woman nodded and as fast as Amera could blink, she was gone, but not before she heard the unmistakable sigh of relief.

When Amera returned to the open bar area, she stopped short. There were a few regulars who mingled in booths, satisfied with their pitchers of beer cluttering the tables between them, completely unaware of the few spirits who lingered. Spirits who were unable to cross the seam to the afterlife for one reason or another.

The young man was standing behind the bar, running his hand through the things on the open shelves as he muttered to himself.

"You're dead," she said simply. His eyes bore holes in her for what felt like the longest second on earth, before he turned back to the shelves.

She shrugged. It was always easier to rip the bandage off than to pretend lifting it piece by piece would make it hurt any less.

"I figured as much." he said matter-of-factly. He passed a shaky hand through his loose curls that tickled his shoulders.