Today it’s a decrepit yet young girl, she looks to be in her teenage years and Taylor would have been shocked by being visited by such youthful death but she’s seen far worse.
She can’t help but wonder how the girl died though, how anyone so young could have perished.
Despite her presumed age the woman’s hair is frail and her face, just like all the others who have visited her, is pale and gaunt.
She’s small and frail and Taylor wonder if the girl was that way in life or if death made her shrink to this size.
Obvious beauty still coats her even behind the veil, and in life she must have turned heads. If others could see her now they would still look.
Taylor curses the part of herself that feels innate jealousy at her features. In another world, perhaps, she could be the same vision as this girl. The same features and the same fate.
Her mouth opens as if she’s speaking but no noise is to be heard. Taylor only hears a desolate buzzing noise that radiates off of her being like the frequency of an mute instrument.
It feels like her soul is speaking in a language that Taylor will never understand or maybe she’s just deaf to their speech. At least she’s not blind to this vision like everyone else.
After a moment of silent staring Taylor gets out of bed. There’s no use pondering the figure before her when she still needs to go to school.
She visits her wardrobe and after pulling on a worn red sweatshirt and jeans, she exits her bedroom, closing the white door behind her gently. The girl does not follow.
Her socked feet step onto the cool hardwood and she moves into the kitchen.
The smell of coffee fills the room and she sees her father, already dressed for work and leaning against the counter that the coffee maker rests on.
His black tumblr has the design of something that she drew in metallic sharpie when she was in middle school and he holds it as he waits for his drink to be prepared.
Her dad works as a journalist, he writes for a network in downtown.
He wasn’t excellent writer, but one story he had covered about a month ago on the a school shooting that happened in the state had taken off.
The shooting hadn’t become a massacre, few had died but her father had written an interesting take on the events,
focusing more on the suicide that the shooter had committed than the other lives he had taken .
He related the incident to the Columbine shooting and the reports the shooter’s mother had given the on fact that her son had killed in order to die.
The shooting had given him a reason to die, given him a justification as to why he deserved death.
Her dad had written a twisted report but it had landed him a good amount of money and a nice office.
Now his blonde hair had streaks of grey but he was still rather handsome. Taylor read every story he published and they discussed their thought.
Most of the time she didn't understand his writing,
it was too complex for her to bother with and recently he had delved into subjects that she wasn’t particularly interested in but would always bear through reading for him.
She would always love her father, whether he was successful as a writer or not.
She stored his stories underneath her bed, whether for safekeeping or simply out of endearment Taylor doesn’t truly know.
He looks up from his phone and across to her as she enters the room. “Morning Taylor,” he say with a smile gradually appearing on his face as the coffee maker beeps.
She returns the greeting and moves in the pantry, debating whether or not she actually wants to eat something this morning.
Sometimes the ghosts she sees scares her stomach out of attempting but she’s not feeling too bad today
She can hear the sloshing of the coffee along the bottom of her dad’s cup. “I’m heading out now, but I’ll see you tonight alright.
” She sticks her head out the pantry to see his salt and pepper hair bobbing as it moves towards the door.
“Mmhmm,” she replies. “See you then, have a good day.”
He laughs somewhat sarcastically but heartily. “I have a presentation in the afternoon but I’ll try my best to enjoy it. Good luck on your AP Chem test today, show Mrs.
Henrick how smart I know you are.”
The door closes as he slips behind it and she checks the time and decides that leaving twenty minutes before class starts is cutting close enough to being tardy.
She grabs her car keys from the drawer near the back door. A part of her can’t help but savor the moments that she’s alone.
In these times she’s allowed to be whoever she wants, she never has to be wary that a vision, a girl, will appear from thin air and frighten the breath from her lungs.
Unless she was overcome with darker thoughts, there wasn’t much to fear in being alone.
When she gets into the car however, she has a visitor. The same woman from before stands in front of her car, her ghostly figure staring vacantly into her eyes.
Startled at first, a gasp works its way through her system but she swallows it back down. No reason for her to be surprised by a ghost’s appearance.
She might have been greeted by faces every morning, but whenever they decided to follow her she was shocked, she could never tell when they would show up and frighten her.
A part of her wonders why they follow her at all, why they had starting appearing in front of her four years ago. Nothing had amounted from it.
She takes and deep breath, steadies herself, and puts her keys into ignition.