Her Definition of Fun Is Dead

"You wanna do something fun?" Delilah had asked me. Her eyes were a bright blue, and her hair was a deep red-orange color. She wore a light blue shirt and dusty blue jeans. Delilah never wore anything that wasn't a dress. I wondered if she had 'grown up'. Delilah had promised she wouldn't, but now I worried. No, no, why am I worried? It's Delilah, her growing up meant the world had ended. Was the world ending? My young mind had identified different clothes as some kind of twisted threat, or some kind of message that I just didn't get.

Anyway, um, of course I said yes, who would I be to decline fun? Actually, who would anyone be to deny fun? I remember how she had practically dragged me after her, a wide grin on her face. I remember how she told me this would be the best thing I've ever done. I remember the creepy old shack she had brought me to, and how everywhere you looked, it was falling apart. Whether it be the furniture was damp or torn in two, windows smashed or worn with age, or the way the walls were ripped open in more places than I could count, it was terrifying.

Delilah told me it was safe, though. She told me she always came here. I trusted her, eager to know what kind of fun she meant exactly. (Spoiler alert, her definition of fun is nowhere near my definition of it. People are alot more different than I thought they were, yet we're all the same.)

I remember agreeing to sit in a chair. I remember when I began to panic as automatic straps locked me in place. I remember my horror when she pulled out a knife. I remember the pain as I was cut open, sliver by sliver. I remember when her dad had come around the corner. I remember when I tried to scream for help, but Delilah had stabbed my throat, cutting me off. I remember the horror on her dad's face when he saw me.

I remember death.

Now, I sit in Delilah's room in the mental hospital. She was ten at the time. Now, she's thirteen. Now, I've been dead for three years. Time flies, nobody lied about that. I remember what the officers said about her. I remember how she went into a blind panic, kicking and screaming, I remember how she pleaded and cried. I remember when she tried to kill herself, her soul seeing mine, only for a second before being ripped out of the spirit world again. I remember smiling with no emotion at the way she gawked at the ceiling the rest of the night.

I remember how she began praying. Not to a God, but to me. Was I a god? She prayed and whispered her apologies, she explained herself, she apologized. I didn't accept it. This night, she prayed weirdly. She said her usuals, but this time, she was dull. She wasn't Delilah. She wasn't sitting right, she wasn't speaking in the same tone she usually used, she wasn't... herself. It's difficult to explain to someone who never knew her, just how close me and her were. Well, I thought we were close, anyway. Perhaps I'm wrong about that. Maybe we were never friends, I was just the lab animal she wanted to learn the anatomy of up close. Gross, saying it that way made it sound awful. Well, it was, but... It still hurt. I faintly grasp my chest.

Something stirred beside me. I looked to my left, where she floated with me now. I saw her once bright blue eyes, now dull, and I saw her wearing that white flowy dress her parents sent to her not too long ago. I turn my gaze back to the girl praying. That's not Delilah. Delilah is long gone, as am I. I'm safe now. Everything is okay. We're free, now.

"I'm sorry," Delilah whispered. I blinked. Tears were in her ghostly eyes, and she turned towards her living self. Not-Delilah began retching, and I couldn't help but watch. I wanted to look away. I didn't want to watch her die. I didn't want to, it's not fair! Why do I have to? Why do I...

Not-Delilah coughed up blood, and I watched, my dead heart drumming against my weary ribs, as she slowly died. Not-Delilah smiled as she lay there, blood pooling around her mouth, yet she still smiled. Not once did she ever call out. She must be strong, or... No, she's not strong. She's only doing this because...

They found her by morning. Me and Delilah watched the officers break the news to Delilah's parents, how they had both broken down. First, their daughter murders someone and has to be sent to a mental hospital for however many years, and now they find she poisoned herself. How, I wondered, glancing at Delilah. She shook her head, a weak smile on her face.

We both wandered aimlessly. There was nothing for us on this world anymore. We were both dead, and neither of us had any further needs to tend to. We walked until even our ghosts were weak, neither of us saying any words. Not once did we open our mouth to speak. We only wandered. Now, all we knew was emptyness. Nothing more waited. I wondered faintly if I'd see my cat again. Is Hershey okay? I miss him. I noticed a long time ago that I began missing things I always did, things that at the time were boring for me. Heck, I even missed math class with grumpy face Ms. Tristina. Wow, dying can do alot to you.

"I forgive you," I whispered to Delilah as we lay underneath an old tree. She looked at me in surprise, but her gaze quickly softened.

"Thank you."

Now, we can speak. Now, we can be friends again. Now, I can forgive. Now, we're safe. Now, everything is okay.

Now, I remember, I can rest.