A Collection Of Short Stories

The Ghost

Three weeks ago, my life was cut short as easily and quickly as snipping string in half. I am - No... was 16 years old.

I had always assumed that death would be peaceful - better than the life that I had. Not that I had a bad life. But I was under so many constraints, so much pressure. I thought that one day death would be my escape. Instead, I found out that death is so much worse than life. Rather than endless darkness and eternal silence, or constant contentment and unrivalled happiness I sit and watch as the lives of my family continue on without me.

Some would say that I died suddenly, no warning at all. Others would say that it was a long time coming. Technically, they're both right.

I had always been known as the "Dare Girl". This was for two reasons. 1) My surname was Dare and 2) I would always rise to a challenge. I died doing what I loved - proving my courage... and bagging bragging rights.

Currently, I'm sitting - well, sitting may not be the right word - in my sister's bedroom. Her name is Alyssa and she is examining the wall with interest. She has always the prettiest of the four of us, and this expression of resignation and anger and sadness all mixed up on her features and her eyes unfocused doesn't take away from that. She was always the most apparently feminine as she was the daintiest, the most graceful - as a gymnast and a ballerina she'd have to be. But she's also the most stereotypical masculine of us four as she is always getting into fights, and always winning. She never shows outward emotion... Or, well... she never used to. She's tough as nails... But no one's tough enough for this...

By "the four of us" I mean my three sisters and myself.

I was the youngest, and maybe that's what made me so adventurous and mischievous - because everyone was so protective of me. Alyssa was - no, still is my twin. Unfortunately for me, not identical, but fortunate for her -she doesn't have to see my face every time that she looks in a mirror. The eldest is Sally, 20 - she was one of those goody-two shoes types until she got pregnant in high school and our parents forced her into having an abortion, from then on... well, not so much of a rule-follower. And the second eldest, Lexi - she's the nerd of the family. Very smart, very creative - good at everything she does without fail. And, annoyingly nice. The kindest person you will ever meet. It's really irritating. So, there you have it, each of us in our little roles - Sally the good girl turned wild child, Lexi the infuriatingly nice overachiever, Alyssa the beautiful scrappy gymnast, and me. The dead Dare devil. And that's our family.

Since my death, nothing has changed. Celebrities keep screwing up, politicians are still laughing stocks, the environment is still collapsing, and all the ism's and phobias of the human race are still alive and fighting. But at the same time, and on a smaller scale, everything has changed. Sally doesn't sneak back in at 3am but now just shuffles through the door at 10am, Lexi no longer smiles and says good morning at the breakfast table, and Alyssa doesn't come out of her room. Ever.

Our parents seem to have given up. My mother does nothing, or she does everything. Sitting on the couch or lying in bed, or cleaning, baking, and chattering away like nothing is wrong. My father, on the other hand... Well, I don't know. I haven't seen him in days.

At first, when I originally fell off that roof and crunched onto the pavement, I was exhilarated. There was no pain, and so I felt that I was invincible. It was only when I got up and ran to my friends that I realised something was wrong. As I sprinted to them, 3 metres away, holding my arms up triumphantly and beaming, I couldn't see that there was a problem and my mind hadn't fully comprehended that I couldn't have fallen that height and felt not a single jolt. As looks of horror spread across their faces, I was finally realising that there was an issue. I went up to my best friend, Meghan, and grabbed her shoulder, waving my hand in front of her face. But all she did was look right through me. Her face went slack and her hands went through her hair as she turned away from me, my hand slipping through her shoulder. I stared at my palm in shock and understanding seeped through me. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply for 10 seconds before turning 180 degrees to face my landing spot. In my inspection of Meg, I had failed to notice the noise and movement around me. I opened my eyes to a scene that I still can't get out of my head. Through the legs of a stranger I stared into the unblinking, unmoving, open eyes of my own corpse and felt the breath go out of me. I fell to my knees and gasped - desperate for air. It wasn't until later that I experimented with breathing and found that it was now just a memory, a human comfort, that was no longer a necessity.