Death is just as beautiful as life, and just as messy, because they are the same. The only thing that changes is your perspective. You look up at her with the same fresh eyes as the thousands before you. Her hair whisps in the air, as if it was inspiration for willow trees. Her nails are long and narrow. They caress what little hair you have until you're half asleep. All to spare you the stress of being awake while transitioning between worlds. She kisses your forehead with her rosey lips to give you the color of life. Blood pumping to your brain, you're thinking, you hear a distant thumping. You try to memorize her face, but her eyes shine brighter as you're blinded into the living world. You miss her. You miss her soft hands holding your head up. You miss the warmth of her chest.

Soon enough you are craddled in the arms of someone warm. Her fingers brush your hair to the side. Your head rests against her warm chest, and you hear a familiar thumping. You feel your own rhythm match to her's. Death chose her for you, so you fall into complete trust of this woman. You trust her and Death; until she leaves you to run off with Death.

You no longer see death as warmth. Death is cold. She's nothing but pain. She should be avoided for as long as possible because you don't want to leave your loved ones feeling the same way you did. No matter how hard you fight, she always makes her visit.

You stare death in the eyes and the warmth you remember as a baby claws into your back in a scorching temperature. Your tears cloud your vision and all you can see is the contrast of what must be blood around her mouth against her pale skin. You try to run and create any obstacle to give you time to get to the door. You swing open the door and find her on the other side of it. Death doesn't follow the rules of psychics. She runs her fingers through your hair, all while staring into your eyes. You're paralyzed. No. You're dying. You feel your blood receed from the extemities to your heart. Death's golden eyes faded into a charred maroon. She digs her nails into your scalp as she grips your hair. Her lips tear apart, exposing her jagged and broken teeth, to let a screech leak between each tooth. Her grip finally tightens into a fist to snap your neck and release you on to the next world. It's all perspective.

The world is gone, but we are still here. It’s been 7 years since mother nature decided she’s had enough of us. We didn’t expect it, but that was dumb of us not to. The sky is no longer blue. A continuous storm rolls over the earth. Lightning is our new sun. Except we don’t see either of them. A flash of light digs into the ground, through the man in front of me. He’s dead before the flash recedes to the surface. It’s good that he didn’t catch on fire. Fire, in any form, is not allowed in this community. That is because, in the darkness of our survival, oxygen and other flammable gases are not in short supply. There were a few people who couldn’t handle the fumes and had to face against whatever was happening on the surface. Some people planned on traveling up north because the biggest threat is just snow. Northern Canada used to sound awful, but now it is seen as the ultimate vacation spot. Not only do they get to live on the surface, but the sun shoots off more solar flares now a days. They get the beauty of the stars to backdrop the luminescent northern lights. Lucky bastards. We have already started seeing signs of evolution within the community. The children are pale enough to see the blue veins hide under their thin sheets of skin. Their eyes are a very light blue. Some children have light grey eyes. Some of them are showing signs of being blind. They’re not completely sure about it because the only proof is that people claim their children don’t respond to the flash of lightning, but they still flinch at the crackled boom. I think they should be introduced to the surface at some point in their life. I can only predict one of these ghosts growing up to be teenagers and run away to the surface just because they don’t know what’s up there. I’ve only been here a few days. I never wanted to be underground. I was facing the weather on my own on the surface. I probably could’ve made it to the North if their troops hadn’t kidnapped me. I was knocked out by a piece of hail and their scouts dragged me underground. Taking unconscious people home was not well received when society was on the surface. 

I don’t want to be a tunnel rat. I don’t want to be a mole. I don’t want any kids or grandkids of mine to look like ghosts. All I want is a goddamn smoke. Don’t judge me. If you were stuck in a dark system of tunnels surrounded by people who don’t like you, you’d be a little stressed out too. I think they’re mad because I’m not as transparent as them. Just because they can’t see my veins doesn’t give them any reason to take my bag away from me. I wonder if one of the kids can find it for me. I think I have chocolate in my bag. They can have all the chocolate. I just need a smoke. 

I walk down the dark hall with my hand grazing the wall. I need to keep my hand on the wall, or else I start to panic and all I can think about is a cigarette. I’m almost nauseous at the thought of it. I almost puke when I run into something as tall as my belly button. “Ow! Why’d you do that!?” It’s a kid. Perfect!

“Oh I’m sorry. I can’t see.”

“Why can’t you see?”

“Wait. You CAN see?”

“Of course, I can see! It’s a little hard to see you though. You’re darker than the rest of us.”

“I can’t see without my bag. I have a bunch of medicine that helps me see, but someone took it from me. If you can find my bag, then I’ll reward you.”

“Easy! Come with me. I know where they keep the surface stuff.” He grabs my hand and puts it on the back of his collar. This kid is basically my guide dog. We turn left, then right, left, left, and stop. “This part is a little tricky. Get down on all fours.”

“What?” This little shit grabbed my shirt and pulled me down on my hands and knees. He puts my hand on his ankle and we crawl through this tunnel for 10 minutes. After 10 minutes of me scrapping my hair off on the roof of this tunnel, we reach an opening. The kid jerks his ankle out of my hand. I’m lost. I hear his feet scurry away from me. Is this kid going to betray me? “Aye! Where did you go?!” I hear his feet scurry back towards me. The kid gave out a little grunt and I felt my bag take out my knees from the left. I hate this kid. 

“Alright there’s your bag. Now where’s my reward?” As I dig through my bag, I tell him to come to me. I found my cigarettes and my lighter. Okay. This kid deserves all the chocolate in my bag, but I need help to get out of here. 

“Lead me out of here and you get your reward.” 

“Uuugh. Fine. This reward better be something!” He leads me back to my room, and I give him four chocolate bars. “What is this?” 

“It’s chocolate. You eat it and it tastes better than anything you guys have down here.” The kid gives a little gasp and runs off. I lay down on my cot with my cigarettes close to my heart. I almost fall asleep peacefully for once down here, but I hear a stampede of adult feet getting louder and louder. I shouldn’t have given that kid all the chocolate bars. They know I have my bag. I light a cigarette in my room and take a drag long enough to burn through half the stick. I blow the smoke at my door and flick the cigarette out into the hallway. “You should’ve left me on the surface.” 

As I watch the glowing cigarette cut through my cloud of smoke, I see the kid. He’s holding the wrapper of the chocolate. The glow of the cigarette shows me his eyes. His eyes are sky blue. It’s the calmest I’ve felt down here, just staring into this kid’s eyes for a split second because it was a piece of the surface. I’m sorry kid. The cigarette lands on the ground and the tunnels ignite like the walls are coated in gas. It’s so bright that I can’t see the kid anymore. All I hear is the explosion of the community. I can’t hear the screams. I can’t see them burn. I can’t breathe. It’s not new to me though. I’ve been suffocating since I was 16. I’m not sorry to this community because they trapped me here. I am sorry to the kid though. He was a piece of beauty from the old world. 

   The day of my wedding. Your little girl’s special day. I saved you a piece of the cake. I’ll send Mom home with it. She walked me down the aisle. It was a wonderful day. Just about as perfect as it could be. It was really moving to walk down the aisle, our arms linked together, and our heads held high. She told me that she couldn’t be prouder of who I’ve grown to be. Her words punched me in the gut and tears flooded my eyes and down my face. Good thing I didn’t go heavy with the eye makeup. Her words hit me so hard because part of me felt as though they weren’t just her words. I guess part of me wanted to believe they were also your words, Dad. I hope you are proud of me. I try at least. I hope to hear from you soon. 

Love, Jean.

I watch them from my window

They gather in their circles,

And they ask for forgiveness 

Once again, they are ignored. 

People ask for forgiveness when they feel guilt.

Guilt should prevent them from repeating their mistakes. 

Is the temptress too alluring?

Are they too weak to ignore the temptress?

Or are they just scared?

Scared of what will happen if they stop pretending to be good. 

What about the possibility that I will not accept their plea for forgiveness?

I have told them to confess. 

They binge in their vices and expect me to reset and ignore their repeated offences. 

Justice tells us repeated offenders are worse than first timers. 

They created that system.

Should I follow what they deem fair?

According to them, my only requirements are to believe in me.

Here’s what makes life a bitch, 

I do not believe in you.