[another short story, aye]

⌛️

Orilon wasn't a place familiar with the word 'mourning'.

The town was never clouded with loss. Not even the numbing pain when you lost someone you loved, because in here, the day of your death wouldn't be the last day you could walk on the surface of earth. You could still attend your funeral, sitting on top of your coffin, thanking everyone for coming while cracking jokes to make them laugh. And no one would be crying.

When you died, you had twenty-three days.

Twenty-three days for you to live as a human, or maybe not so much. You could walk and talk and look like one, but nothing was beating under your chest. Just a physical form wrapped in an all-white outfit, smile plastered on your smiling face and your shoulders free of weight. In this period of your life, you were addressed as a 'spirit'. Then by the time you were in the edge of your last night, everyone would have learned to accept the fact that you were already gone.

The first time I had seen a spirit, I was terrified to my bones.

I was ten when I first moved to Orilon, had no clue of this twenty-three-days thing, only following my parents' abrupt decision on moving from New York all the way to a small town in the middle of nowhere because I truly believed that my father—who was a pretty successful businessman—was transferred to another subdivision. At that time my grandmother was with me, supposedly on her last three weeks of living, but the me at that time didn't know anything about that.

A week later, my grandmother died. The day after, she was the one who woke me up.

That was the reason why my family was so keen on moving. They had heard of this ridiculous rumor, and desperation had driven them into believing that this was the only way they could have an extra time with her. Then they really did earn it, and we became so fascinated with this small town that we never moved back to the city anymore. A small place filled with miracles which only the townspeople could cherish.

In here, things were beautiful, and yet so scary. You could take a stroll around the lake and meet a couple people dressed in white, smiling and waving at you, but deep down, you knew that they weren't here anymore, and they were just continuing on life to do the things they hadn't done when they were still alive—confess, apologize, say goodbye, anything.

And apparently, Isla Miller chose to spend her last days to go back to school.

"Excuse me, sir?"

We had just been in the class for five minutes, could barely be counted as late which the school disagreed to, but one glance at her white dress and white ballet shoes was enough to make Mr West fall silent. He watched Isla quietly as we did too, following her relaxed movements as she was approaching his desk.

From the back of the class, I heard someone take a deep breath.

He had just realized the reason why the seat next to his was empty, I was sure on that.

"I'm late, sorry," her whisper was audible all the way to the farthest corner of the class since it was dead quiet, "but, you know, they let me in without a late slip. Obviously."

She gestured at her white attire, and Mr West visibly swallowed. This was a surprise. Isla Miller, the first girl this year to become a spirit.

"Ms Miller," he breathed out, "just . . . when?"

She ran a hair through her blonde hair, shifting her weight onto her left leg. "Last night."

"Why—"

"Can I have a few minutes, Sir? I want to say something."

Letting out a defeated breath, my History teacher gestured to the front of the class with a stiff nod.

I kept my eyes fixed on her, not turning away when our eyes met. Weirdly she didn't either, only looking away when she began talking. My grip on my pen tightened, not believing that someone as bright as Isla would ever be in this position so early.

"Hi, guys," she started, smiling so widely you couldn't have known that she was already gone except for the dress being a dead-giveaway. "As you all can see already, I'm down to my last twenty-three days."

Willow Adams—one of her friends—raised her hand from where she was sitting at the front row. Her voice was quiet and a bit trembly when she spoke, "Why haven't we heard about this? Usually the news travel fast. It's a small town."

Isla let out a nervous laugh. "Probably because my mother hasn't known about this too. I think she'll find out soon though, the principal called her immediately when she saw me earlier."

"How is that even possible?"

All eyes flickered to me when I said it. So did Isla's, her blue eyes brighter than ever looking at me carefully, as if she herself was surprised that I would be asking that out of all people. A natural reaction, since we had barely known each other.

"She . . . uh," she cleared her throat, "she probably hasn't found my body yet. I don't know. I haven't met her since I woke up."

Once again, the class fell quite, all of us looking at her with our heads brimmed with questions but no one seemed to know exactly how to ask it. Mr West was still sitting in his chair, scanning through the attendance sheet, probably looking for Isla's name to cross out. It was always like that in this school. Forgetting people needed process, and the best thing a school could do first was to stop thinking of a spirit as a student anymore.

So starting from this day, Isla wasn't a senior. She was just a visitor with a free pass.

"No questions?" Isla grinned, cocking her head. "Okay, then, I'll be sitting at the back like usual."

And then she walked to her seat, ignoring all the stares directed to her, only returning mine briefly before she eventually listened to Mr West's teaching like she had always done before.

⌛️

If it mattered at all, the amount of times I had spoken to Isla could be counted by hand. We only talked if it was necessary, though she did ever sent some texts which I rarely replied to. She was practically a stranger.

"Can you help me, Grey?"

Or maybe I was the only one who thought so.

She was standing in front of her opened locker, a pile of books in her arms and a swollen backpack near her feet. Despite the amount of things she had already grabbed, I could see that there were still a couple books and a jacket in her locker. "With what?"

Sighing, she gestured at her locker with her head, sending a strand of hair covering her left eye which she blew away. "With my stuffs. My mother's car is in the parking lot, but for some reason she just refused to help me with this. Please?"

I wanted to ask why she chose me of all people when there were so many staring at us, definitely eager to help if she bothered asking them. But I held in the thought. Their opinions on me were already as bad as it could be. "Alright. Which car?"

"Thank you," she sounded relieved, grinning up widely at me. "And it's the red one. She said she's right in front of the entrance."

I nodded, making a move to gather her things from her locker, but she blocked me from it. "Just my bag is fine. I can take a two-trip."

"That's too tiring," I murmured, pushing her lightly out of my way to do it anyway. Later I bent down to pick up her bag, adjusting the strap when I found out how heavy it was. Without waiting for her, I began walking to the door to get it over and done with. I had a work shift in thirty minutes.

"Grey!"

I clucked my tongue in annoyance. She was always labeled as the bubbly and cheerful girl, the type which I often got irked at.

"Grey, wait!" In a second, she was walking by my side, seemingly struggling to catch up with my pace but was still determined to nevertheless. "I wanted to ask you something, geez. Don't be in such a hurry."

"What if I am in a hurry?"

"Then I'll be quick, I promise," she took a quick stop to adjust the books in her arms, hurriedly running up to me when done. "Will you be coming tomorrow? To my funeral?"

If I wasn't from this town, I'd freak out upon hearing that. But I was, and oddly enough this wasn't the first time I had ever heard of that question. A funeral in Orilon wasn't something to dread, more considered to be fun than depressing. People gathering all dressed up, a few speeches, sending prayers? It felt like wedding—only, the guests would all be wearing black. "I think so. Nixon and the others are going so I'll be with them."

"I'll be waiting."

My head snapped to face her, startled by her softly-said words. It was weird—I felt like I had never done anything to deserve the way she was talking to me.

When I realized I was looking at her a few beats too long, I looked away, gritting my teeth. "Yeah, okay."

Her mom's red car was right in front of the door when I pushed it open, engine still on and from where I was standing I could see her sitting in the driver's seat. Head down, forehead pressed onto the steering wheel. I didn't comment on it.

I turned to her, "Where do I put these?"

"Wait a sec," Isla jogged to the back of the car, opening the trunk before throwing the things in her hands roughly, running back up to me to take everything I had then repeated the action. I didn't even bother helping her. I was too busy looking at her mother.

She had just lifted her head, and she was wiping tears away from her eyes.

Maybe, to her, twenty-three days would never be enough. But I had no right to judge, for how my Mom had spent a week crying when she couldn't find Grams anywhere in the house the day after.

"Grey?"

I snapped back to reality, looking down at Isla, briefly scanning the white dress she had on and her white shoes before snapping my attention back to her baby-blue eyes. I had always felt weirded out by Orilon's spirits. They always seemed the happiest when they had only days left. Skin clearer, smile wider, eyes brighter. It was the same with Grams.

I cleared my throat, "Yeah?"

"Thanks again," and she smiled, one that looked more genuine than the others I had spotted on her face before this day. "And don't forget to come tomorrow. It'll be fun, probably."

Again, I looked at her mother. "Yeah," I blew out a breath, "probably."