❝Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.❞

-Welcome to Night Vale

✕✕✕✕✕

Though certain things in Ashdown seemed brighter from that Wednesday on, the following week seemed to crawl in a sluggish pace, the days going by much too slowly. The only vaguely interesting thing was the new routine I found myself in.

Still plagued by nightmares - I could be as happy as a kid in a candy store, but my mental illness wasn't going away anytime soon -, I'd tumble out of bed and take a decidedly more happy Kat to school. There, sometimes we'd split - I'd walk to class by myself, and she'd join her soccer buddies - and sometimes we'd stick together, Macy joining us whenever she could get away from the Evil Queen.

With Veronica, drama club was awkward, but if anything, Mr. Summers and Violet liked me the most. And it was during my 7th period study hall with said English teacher that my routine finally broke once again.

In this semester's study hall, I have no friends. Of course, there were only 4 or 5 people who actually talked to me anyway, but it still feels painful to have my peers not even give me a passing glance. I sit near the window, towards the back of the class, in one of those desk-chair amalgams that makes your spine hurt; when I come here daily, I almost always just find myself twisting my hair around my pencil and staring out the window, reliving memories, over and over and over again.

Today, my hair is in a French braid, my clothes consisting of a oversized maroon sweater and black leggings, which could've been fashionable but just looked lazy on me. Outside the glass above the counter next to my seat, I watched brown and amber leaves fall to the ground like soft rains, my mind thinking of the many, many Autumns before I'd spent with Will. If it was any other Thursday, he and I would be pulsing with excitement for tomorrow's football game, talking about all the things that could possibly go on below the student section - the fights, the crimes, the arguments between rival teams. Once, a kid from the opposing school had brought a homemade knife and attempted to sword fight a freshman; back then, that seemed like the most morbid thing that could ever happen to our hometown.

Now, I know differently. Now, leaves are no longer symbols of football season and band music and a summer far, far away; now, they're symbols of what has been and what could've been. If only things had gone different that night.

If I'm not remembering my life before the crash - whether voluntary or involuntary - I'm usually thinking about what I could've done to change its outcome. These thoughts make my stomach hurt and my muscles feel weak, because some part of me still believes it was my fault.

If I hadn't started talking to him, perhaps he would've kept his eyes on the road, and then he would've known to stop. Or maybe if I'd never wanted to go to prom, we could've just stayed home and never been in the situation in the first place. There's a thousand ways May 29th, 2017 could've gone differently for me, and every one of them makes me feel sick.

But then I remember Mor, and his words about gods and fates and angels, and the thought that maybe he was simply meant to die young flashes through my mind. It doesn't make me feel any better. In fact, it makes me feel worse.

I lay down my pencil and glance around the room. Some sophomores are sitting on desks in the middle, playing a game of hot potato with a tape ball to the tune of Gucci Gang. Those who aren't participating are doodling on the front whiteboard with dying red and purple expo markers. Above the board, the clock ticks away, slowly reaching the 2:25 mark - 15 minutes until school lets out.

15 more minutes of having nothing to do but make war with my own thoughts.

I turn back towards the window, but right at that moment, my phone - which is almost dead, with only 5% left - buzzes. Almost surprisingly, it's a text from my sister:

Kat Cabrera: Lil, do you think it would be bad if I were to tell McLain I'm going to the bathroom and then just... never come back

Somehow, Kat's been stuck with my calculus teacher, Ms. McLain, as her homeroom and study hall since the 9th grade. McLain's as blind as a bat and much more gullible; every year, kids are coming up with new ways to trick the old woman into letting them do things that are definitely not in the curriculum.

It's uncharacteristic of my sister to participate in said tricks, but I'm glad she's becoming more laid-back.

From the corner of my eye, I look at Mr. Summers. He's the exact opposite of McLain, sharp and intelligent from the moment I've met him, but he's also the most "chill" teacher in all the faculty. If I were to try, I could probably get out as well. I would kind of have to, considering I'm Kat's ride. Quickly, I tap back:

Me: only if you think it would be bad for me to do the same thing to summers

Me: (thats a no, it wouldnt be bad. do it!!)

And just as I click send, the phone shuts off, its battery dying, just like my soul everytime I walk into this godforsaken school. I desperately want to leave, too, and I'm not afraid to do it. Will and I used to do something similar if ever we were separated; we'd claim to our respective teachers that we were going to get a drink at the water fountain, and then we'd end up kissing behind the columns in the atrium.

Will was a sweetheart and an angel on Earth, but only when it came to things that actually mattered. He'd follow all the rules if they meant something, but if all they were doing was restricting creativity and freedom, he wouldn't give a shit.

He wanted to do exactly what people expected him to do - to make his small town proud in collegiate football, to marry his high school sweetheart and visit his family on the holidays - but he also wanted so much more. He wanted to have a platform to make people happy, and that was the driving force behind almost everything he did. I remember when he got MVP at the end of sophomore year, and he told me, "I want to be something more than just the stereotypical All-American Boy. I want to help people. I want to make the world happy."

I know how much he probably hates where I am right now. I can practically imagine him up in Heaven, cheering me on when things go right and sighing with disappointment in his eyes every time I make myself sadder.

He'd want me to rebel. I know it. So I stand up, shouldering my backpack, and make my way to Mr. Summers' desk. As I reach him, he looks up from his laptop, and I say, "May I go to the bathroom?"

Summers glances at my backpack, but knowing the consequences of asking a girl why she's taking her bag, he just shrugs and nods. "Sure, Lila. Sign out."

"Okay."

I sign my name and the time, now 2:30, on the clipboard near the door, then turn the silver handle and make my way out of the bottom layer of the 9 Circles of Hell. As I leave, the group playing their game explodes when somebody throws the ball at another kid, and part of me feels relieved that nobody talks to me. That means nobody will notice - or care - if I'm gone.

Through the halls and down the stairs I go, eventually slogging myself to the main atrium, where Kat is leaning against a row of lockers, determinedly texting.

"Kat!" I hiss. She doesn't hear me, or at least, she doesn't acknowledge me, so I try, "Katrina! Kitty kat!"

Only at that last name does she whip her head around and narrow her eyes. "Lila!" she exclaims, prying herself away from the lockers like a piece of bark on a diseased sugar maple, "I've been texting you for the past 7 minutes!"

"My phone died."

Without another look at each other, we step into sync, experts at walking the halls of Ashdown High. Considering all my time spent after school at drama club, it's not strange for me to see the hallways this empty, but Kat seems unnerved. It's unusual for her to leave early; always striving for perfection, she follows almost every rule laid in front of her. If someone told her in order to get a scholarship she'd have to streak past The Church of the Eternal Heart just as Sunday mass was ending, she'd do it.

"I'm assuming you got past McLain?" I ask my sister, trying to calm her perfectionist nerves. "I'm surprised. Not that she let you go, obviously, but that you even went at all. You're not usually one to break the rules."

"Maybe you don't know me very well, then." Any other time, these words would certainly be a dig at my ignorance towards her all these years, but there's no hardness in her voice. Just a bit of anxiety and an attempt at sarcasm.

I side-eye her, and say, "I didn't realize you changed that much," but she's not listening - she's taking a selfie with a grimace on her face. With fingers like lightning, she types in a caption, then adds it to her Snapchat story. "Are you doing this to impress someone?"

Kat sighs and lets her tense posture slump. "No, not really, I just... Thals skipped study hall on Monday, and she dared me that I couldn't do it too. So I'm doing it." Quickly, she adds, "Not just for her, or anyone, or anything. But like, to prove to everybody I'm not just a goody-two shoes Coach's pet."

I get the feeling that she's leaving something out of the explanation, but all I reply with is, "Have fun with that, chica. Sometimes you just can't change the person others believe you are."

I know that for a fact. Veronica could be a sweetheart inside, but all the school would ever see her as is a queen bee. Macy could be the most intelligent, observant, wise young woman in the world, and she'd always be known as an oblivious ditz. And I could be a fire waiting to ignite, a flame yearning to burn once again, but to my peers, I'll only ever be the girlfriend of the dead man.

It doesn't help that that's how I think of myself, too.

Kat and I push open the glass doors and burst through to the outside, but it's pretty much the same out here. The sun is nowhere to be found, comforted by layers of white satin clouds just waiting to unleash their steel rain. With every step the hemisphere takes towards winter, the air gets chillier, and it's evident in the crisp wind that bites at my nose as Kat and I push onwards towards the car. But, two spots away from our destination, I notice someone is leaning against my sedan.

There are 3 possible people that, like mice that can't seem to stay dead, keep turning up everywhere I go: my ex-best friend, my current only friend, and Mr. Reaper. And somehow, I'm very thankful today that it's the third who's waiting for me at the car.

"You again," Kat blurts, "What do you want?"

"I'd say a new suit would be grand, but unfortunately, we don't celebrate Christmas in its current state where I'm from," Mor muses in reply.

With that, he kicks himself away from the passenger window and comes towards us. He's not wearing his cloak today, and his scythe is nowhere to be seen.

Kat scowls. "That's not what I meant."

My personal death god, as I've come to think of him, bares his teeth at Kat, then brushes past her to come to a stop in front of me. "Lila, dear," he purrs, "I'm afraid your sister is going to be involved again."

"Oo-kay," I say, loosening a breath. "That's all right. I'm - I'm okay with that."

"Is she, though?" He looks at my sister from the corner of his eye and murmurs, "I don't think she likes me very much."

"I'm right here, I can hear you, and you're correct." The two of us turn to Kat, and she crosses her arms. "Let me guess. You're going to take us on a magical journey to a place and time far away in order to help Lila feel better, and in the midst of the mystery she and I'll bond inexplicably?"

Mor laughs like a baying wolf. "And here I thought Lila had an attitude. You'd really be so rude to an angel?" He gives her a mournful look, letting his eyes become wide underneath the weight of his lowered brows.

Before Kat can spit something back, I quickly say, "Where are you planning on taking us? What, uh, wild ideal did fetus me write this time?"

"I wasn't aware fetuses knew how to write-" Mor makes his eyes narrow again with dubiety of my slang- "But apparently young you found some appeal in aquatic life, because you wrote 'Snorkel in the Great Barrier Reef' . In near-dead red ink, may I add."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Kat seems to have a similar reaction, but as her jaw starts to drop, she tampers down on the shock and purses her lips. Meanwhile, I start to think about the concept of going to Australia, of feeling warmth around me once again, but my dreams are interrupted when I hear the snap of a gum bubble not too far away.

Kat, Mor, and I all turn in the direction the sound came from, and my skin goes cold. It's Macy, standing next to her cobalt blue Jeep Wrangler, which I hadn't even noticed was parked right behind me. Her wavy hair is pulled up in a half-bun, her doe eyes are wide, and her brown skin is almost entirely drained of its usual warmth, to the point that I'm worried she's going to be sick.

More than that, though, I'm instantly worrying about what she's thinking. A word I'd rather not repeat here is on replay through my stream of thought, but I fight through my racing heart and tense muscles to look at Kat and Mor. The former has a similar expression to me, except her cheeks have gone completely red; the latter just looks tired.

"Cabreras!" Macy splutters, an awkward, clenched smile appearing on her face, "Hey... who's this?"

She nods at Mor, and I can't tell if she's terrified or terribly in awe. Both fear and intrigue are evident in the quiver in her voice.

"This," I say, "Is..."

"They call me Mor," says Mor, ever insouciant. He sticks out a leather gloved hand, and hesitantly, Macy shakes it. "And you're Macy DiMaggio."

"I am!" Macy exclaims, and then, as if this is news to her, murmurs, "I am?"

Beside me, Kat's gone completely still, her mouth clamped so tight that it looks like she's holding her breath. I grab her hoodie-covered shoulder in solidarity, but she only slightly relaxes.

"You are, to my knowledge." Mor drifts forward, which looks strangely different without his cloak. "And you're also an artist, which means you may actually believe me when I give you the answer to the questions I know are on the tip of your tongue."

"How do you know my-"

"That's too long a story to tell right now."

Macy narrows her eyes, but she's still so wonderstruck that it's not much of a change. "Who are you?" She flickers her eyes to Kat and I. "Who is he? Some socially inept guy cosplaying as an anime character?"

At this, I can practically sense Mor's mixed feelings of amusement and insult, even though he doesn't react physically. All he does is says, "Do you go to church, Miss DiMaggio?"

"Yeah."

"Do you believe in angels?"

"Yeah..." Beyond the girl, the gray clouds start to gather together in the sky, and a chill wind rustles the leaves on the maple trees lining the lot. Macy's army jacket ruffles as she shifts her weight to her knee, cocking her head. "So you're cosplaying as an angel? I guess you could pull it off as an angel from Supernatural..."

Okay, yes, she's definitely not afraid. She's looking at Mor like he's a strange animal in a zoo exhibit, separated from doing her any harm by a smudgy glass wall. The reaper, on the other hand, is starting to get frustrated. His head lolls, he takes a deep breath, and says, "I am not 'cosplaying', whatever that even means. I am an angel."

And without letting Macy react, he launches into the same spiel he gave Kat, the heavenly lie that he's a messenger of God, here to help me accept my grief. The difference is that, where Kat was horrified and disbelieving, Macy's eyes flood with amazement. Slowly, a grin stretches across her face, and she exclaims one word at a time, "That. Is. So. Cool!"

Beside me, Kat makes a noise, partially snort and partially choke, then attempts to cover it with a cough. I watch her mouth go slack, astonished at my friend's piety.

"If this is true," Macy mumbles, quickly adding in a louder, more feverish voice, "Which I'm willing to believe it is!" She shakes her head and pounds her Jeep with her fist before quickly coming up to us. "I want in. I want to see what angels can do!"

I glance at my sister, who raises her eyebrows, and then at Mor, who's finally turned back towards me with an expectant look on his face. I can almost hear him think, it's up to you, Miss Lila.

No, wait, I can hear him think that. It's like we've achieved a telepathic bond, because when I think to myself, oh my god, he's sending thoughts into my mind, he replies, isn't that neat? I only found out I could do this earlier today. They must be letting my powers grow stronger the better I do at my job!

Even though I know Macy and Kat are watching, I scowl. I'm not surprised Mor can do this, too, though it makes me slightly uncomfortable.

Is there nothing you can't do?

I can't stop Macy from coming along.

Why did you have to tell her?

She appears a few times again later in the list. I figured I might as well tell her, knowing she may be seeing me again.

Anything to get the job done quicker, eh?

Just give the poor girl a yes or a no.

I untangle myself from my thoughts, pushing my consciousness to the forefront, becoming fully aware once again of the two slightly confused people standing on either side of me. When I look at her, Kat shrugs, a forced nonchalance in her eyes as she tries so hard to be rebellious. Macy, meanwhile, has raised her hopes as high as they can go, "please" painted like a portrait in her eyes.

"All right," I recede, "Yeah, you can come along."

"What are we doing first?"

"You'll see when we arrive." Mor says, then reaches out his hands; Kat and I take the one on the right, although my sister still seems slightly disgusted by the motion, and Macy eagerly takes the other one.

The last thing I sense before my surroundings change is the woosh of an Autumn wind and the sound of thunder breaking over the cornfields.

✕✕✕

When things become whole once again, the heat is immense and the air is thick with humidity. All around us, birds are chirping and cawing happily, flying from palm tree to palm tree, their colorful bodies specks against a full blue sky. We're in some sort of little shopping area, a wooden deck underneath us and a few tan, stucco buildings near by. From here, I spot a surf shop, a smoothie bar, and a visitor's center. Jungle surrounds the deck, but some yards away, I see stairs down to a path. Sunlight dapples my companions' skin, streaming in through the foliage like sand through a sieve.

I watch Macy's eyes flood with awe. "Where are we?" she asks.

"Green Island, Australia," Mor states, the smallest bit of wonder shining through his own eyes. He shades his head with his hand, watching a kingfisher arc through the air. When he notices me staring at him, his blasé is back, and he says, "The beach is to your left-" he nods at the stairs - "And civilization is to your right. Snorkeling gear is the 4th building in the circle." Finally, he reaches in his pocket and brings out a wad of what I assume is Australian currency, handing it to me. "This is for you. Do what you desire with it."

"How did you even get this stuff?" I ask, staring at the unfamiliar face of the man on the 50 dollar bill.

With a wink, he replies, "Anything to get the job done quicker, eh?"

And he blends back into the shadows, making Macy jump and Kat frown. Without him beside me, I'm even hotter, and its made worse when my sister leans in and whispers, "Macy looks like she's going to cry."

She's right - with her heart-eyed stare and parted lips, my friend looks like she just won her first Oscar and is getting up to give her speech. Her hair has already begun to frizz in the heat; she takes her bun out and starts braiding instead, her gaze on us. "This," she says, her eyes scanning the treetops and her voice trembling, "Is amazing! I've never been south of Virginia, and now I'm in Australia?!"

I can imagine "amazing" can't even begin to cover what she's feeling. Even I'm in awe, but that's mostly because of how desperately I missed the heat and the sun. I've always been more of a summer girl than a winter one, and to feel sweat on my skin again is a surprisingly relieving feeling. A south Pacific breeze caresses my cheek, and I think of Will, and how much he'd love this.

Actually, though he did adore the heat, he'd really love anything. He wanted so badly to travel the world before he died. Whether I'm in Australia or Finland, I know I'd be better with Will beside me. I can only imagine the look that'll be on his face when I tell him about this adventure. But before I can do that, I actually have to, y'know, adventure.

✕✕✕

Macy ends up being the leader on this trip, apparently spurred by her wonderment to drag us to the shops. First, we buy swimsuits and sunscreen - Kat is very adamant about her epidermal health - and then we rent a locker for our Autumnal Vermont wear, and then we decide to buy instead of rent snorkeling gear - Kat is very adamant about her overall health, really.

Finally, we stumble out of the rainforest oasis and out onto a white sand beach; lapping at the coastline is water the color of sapphires and cream, so clear you can see the far-off reefs, even from here. There are a few other tourists on the beach, but we walk far enough to find a completely empty bay, next to a long wooden jetty that seems to crawl along the water until it melts into the horizon.

It's here that we finally wade into the everblue, cool and salty. As I kick myself away from the shore, towards the colorful coral lining the far reaches of the lagoon, I let the water around me overtake my skin. It's a far cry from the last place I went swimming at, a public pool a few towns down.

That pool was nothing much to look at or swim in, but it reached a peak in its popularity the summer before middle school. Every soon-to-be 6th grader was there at least once a week, and if you didn't come back to school smelling like chlorine and grass stains, that was how the student body knew you were an 'epic fail' (or so said the children of 2011).

By the end of August, the friend group of Will, Veronica, Macy, Trevor and I - newly formed and ready for a middle school career of mischief and fun - were at the pool nearly every day. And it was there that Will and I first started talking about the future.

I remember doing a crooked handstand on the pool floor, then falling out and coming up for air. I spotted Veronica and Macy in line for slushies at the snack bar, Trevor in the middle of an intense game of four square with some of our classmates, and my bestest friend right in front of me, smiling sheepishly.

"You were a bit shaky there," he had said gently, trying his best not to hurt my feelings, "But you kept the pose for longer, so I guess there's that."

"Hmph. I'd like to see you do better, anyway."

"Heh, no thanks..." Will replied, a few matted, wet strands of tawny hair falling across his forehead. "I don't have a future in doing handstands. That's Macy's area."

Behind me and to the left, I heard Trevor, his hair natural and short at the time, groan as his ball bounced past me and out of his square. Watching him run after it, I asked Will, "Then what do you have a future in? Have you decided what you want to be when you grow up?"

At that moment, the few fluffy clouds in the sky parted, letting the sun shine on the pool and turn it translucent. His tan skin now glowing, Will replied with an ever-widening smile, "I think I wanna play football. But I also kinda wanna do something with music. Think I can be a rockstar and be in the NFL at the same time?"

The idea of Will performing at Superbowl halftime and then jumping off the stage to play in the game as well made me smile, as absurd as it was. "I mean, there's a first time for everything."

"Yeah, I guess so." My friend shrugged. "I don't know, Lila. I kinda just wanna travel, and then move somewhere warm. Like, really warm. And make people happy. Maybe I'll move to Hawaii and open up a smoothie shop."

I laughed. "It's kinda weird, but I can see you doing that perfectly. You'd be great at customer service."

"Why, thank you." Will leaned over so that his back touched the water. Closing his eyes and savoring the fuzzy radiance of the summer sun, he continued, "Perhaps I'll leave America all together. Move to Australia and teach people how to surf. I mean, I'd have to learn how to surf first, but..."

"How about you become a nature guide and go show people lions in the jungle?"

"Actually, most lions aren't in the jungle, they're on the savanna. But Africa would definitely be a cool new home."

We went back and forth like that for a while, floating next to each other, imagining what Will's life would be like after Ashdown, until finally he sat up, looked me straight in the eye, and said, "Wait, wait, wait. We've been talking about my future for like, an hour. What do you want to do?"

I bit my lip and looked away. "I don't know."

And that was the truth, and so it continued to the present day. By the time we were 15, all of my friends and acquaintances at least had ideas for their careers, but I was in the dark. I couldn't make a living off of knowing astrology or being halfway decent at acting. Broadway was a brutal business, and I'd never make it there - not when I was 11, not now, and not ever. My only other interest was the beach and the stars, but marine biology bored me halfway to death and I've never been smart enough to go into rocket science.

It's this rehashing of my future - or lack thereof - that draws me back to the present. Now, Macy, Kat, and I are finally reaching the end of the dock, where the minnows give way to blue tangs and clownfish and the sandy ground gives way to coral in shades of magenta and lime. As I see my sister and friend kicking just a few feet in front of me, I remember that I don't have to worry about the future anymore. My future lies in a place I can't control, now.

Still, I can't say it doesn't make me at least slightly sad that I'll never figure out what I could've done with my life. I don't want to die an empty husk of a girl.

I wish the receding waves could carry my worries with them. But then, I suppose, if I didn't have said worries, I wouldn't even be here.

Which is why I think of Will one last time - trying not to smile or frown for fear of my snorkel falling out - and push ahead to catch up with my companions.

As we cruise into the outskirts of the reef, the water gets colder, and it seems there's a new creature everywhere we turn. At one point, a few rainbow parrotfish brush up against my leg, making my skin tickle. Only a few moments later, we see the best part: a sea turtle, flapping its way through the water towards us. Macy nearly screams, sending bubbles flying from her mask, and as it passes by, she watches it with love in her eyes. Kat reaches out to touch it, and her tan hand just barely brushes the thing's shell. But it doesn't acknowledge either of them - really, the only way we know it's aware of our existence is that as it swims away, it nudges my thigh with its head.

My entire body goes electric, and when the three of us come up for better air, I clumsily remove the snorkel from my mouth and say in a very Macy-esque way, "That. Was. So. Cool!"

Macy laughs, and even Kat grins at that, genuine and wide, which only imbues more thankfulness in me. If Will will never be able to make people happy, and I'll never be able to avenge him, then I'll just have to do what I can right now to make those who care about me smile. Even if it's just for one day.

✕✕✕

When the salt water has turned our skin hypertonic and the sun has beat too hard, we finally kick back to shore. By the time we stumble back onto the main beach, my sandy legs are on fire and my hair is practically one giant knot and I'm thirsty for something cool and sweet. Kat and Macy share the same sentiment, so they set off to get smoothies from the shopping area - pineapple papaya for Macy, strawberry kiwi for Kat, and mango passion fruit for me - leaving me to wait alone on the beach.

A few other tourists are nearby, but as I watch Macy and Kat go, I feel a bit isolated - until I can sense Mor behind me.

The warmth of the sun is quickly combated with his coldness as I turn and see him leaning against a faded sign reading WATCH OUT FOR SHARKS! But it's not the sign that surprises me - don't worry, the thought of great whites and hammerheads chased me the whole way out past the pier - it's that Mor's actually, truly, smiling. It's a ghost, only evident by the small quirking at either end of his pale lips, but it's there.

When he sees me turn my head towards him, the smile grows, but it also regains its usual sense of pomposity. Meandering over to me, he observes, "You seem happy."

"Happiness is a social construct."

He snorts. "And there's the Lila I know."

In some way, his freezing aura is almost comforting as I stand to see him head-on. Mor's no angel to be around, but he's so unpredictable he's become predictable. He's almost... familiar. I know what I'm getting from him; snark and sarcasm, the smell of smoke and metal, and that strange mixture of feelings I have every time I see him. Awareness and resignation and ignorance and fear all at once, and then something else I can't quite name.

"It looks as though your companions are getting along well," says Mor, and we both glance in the direction Macy and Kat left.

"I want them to. I want them both to be-"

I'm about to say happy, but then I realize how ironic that would be.

It's not that I don't believe in happiness - I think you, the reader, can draw from the way I felt about Will that I was happy, once - and it's not that there's a catch to my viewpoint on feelings. I was just being dramatic.

I'm aware of how dramatic I am, and I wish I could do something to stop it, but emotions run much deeper than just what you choose to say.

If Mor knows what I was about to say, he doesn't show it, instead running his fingers along his hairline and pushing back a few stray locks of keratin snow. "I do have to admit, this is a very nice view. It's much less dark than your previous trips."

I think of Finland and the arctic snow and sky fire, and then I think of Paris and the cool December air warmed by candlelight. Other than Warped Tour, which was dark enough with the thunder and skinny jeans and black tees, I'm not used to seeing Mor in the sunshine. Which means he's right, of course - this is the first foreign place I've gone during the day, and that's because I've always liked nights better, especially dusk, when the sun melts into the horizon.

But it's never been because of the darkness - it's been because of the stars. I never wanted to be stuck in shadows forever.

"Do... do you like the beach?" I ask Mor, wanting to get the topic off of my dreams and desires. "Or is it just nice compared to whatever layer of Hell you crawled out of?"

"I do not reside in Hell!" Mor exclaims with a scoff, drawing the unwanted attention of a few tourists sitting some distance away. One black-eyed look at them, and they're terrified, leaving the reaper to turn back to me and continue, "I am not a demon, nor am I some cursed soul."

"Then where do you live?"

Mor grits his teeth. "I reside in a place much more bleak than Ashdown. If you think Western Vermont is bad, you'd despise it. Be thankful the sun shines every now and then on New England."

"You're a morally gray, black-eyed deity of death," I say, though quieter so our onlookers won't hear, "And you're telling me you like the sunshine?"

"Almost every reaper does; most just don't like to admit it."

They sound like a stubborn, arrogant species, one I would never want to be a part of, but then again, I also wouldn't want to spend my life claiming souls. I wonder where Mor lives, and what he does in his freetime. Do Reapers hang out with other mythical creatures, or are they isolated in their own little realm? Are there Reaper bars and nightclubs and museums? Cities and suburbs, sexism and racism, societal issues?  IS THERE A REAPER PRESIDENT?

There is no 'Reaper President', Lila. We are not human.

You seem human enough to me.

Just like outside of the auditorium, this makes Mor bristle, and he drops all pretenses of cocky amusement to glare at me fully. For a moment, I'm taken back to that first afternoon, the 3-month anniversary of the crash, when the Grim Reaper appeared on my windowsill and told me to take his hand.

This reminder makes my skin go cold, and I say, "I-I'm sorry. I don't know what your problem is with being compared to a human, but I'm sorry, okay? I'll stop pushing."

Mor doesn't say anything in reply, just turns to look out on the water. However, I'm the one who shifts my view when I hear familiar laughter. Only yards away, Macy and Kat are making their way back down the path, smoothies in hand.

"Look, thank you for bringing me here. I love the beach and the heat and the water."

"It's my job," Mor says flatly, which doesn't surprise me, but only makes my muscles more tense. "I'll be back when you're ready to go back to Ashdown."

No metaphors, no complacent smiles, no sharp teeth glimmering in the light. He's there, and then he's gone, without looking at me again. Quickly, I glance around to make sure nobody saw; luckily, the beach-goers are too absorbed into their own worlds of paradise to notice mine quickly falling apart.

✕✕✕

When the birds stop chirping and all the tourists leave and the setting sun starts to send color rippling over the waves, Mor finally takes us home. But as beautiful as the Australian twilight is, it does nothing to dull the strange feeling I have as Mor brusquely says goodbye to Macy, who's as charmed as ever, and Kat, who only crosses her arms and frowns. When he turns to me, all we share is a nod before he blends into the shadows.

We wish Macy farewell, and Kat and I drive slowly back to the Outskirts. For once, my sister is not going on neurotically about every mistake she may have made - she's praising the trip earnestly, admitting that while Mor is intimidating, he does know how to pick a good vacation spot. I only half-listen, but I'm glad she's happy.

That afternoon, Mama's home for once, having left the 5:00 weather forecast to one of junior meteorologists. She's fluttering around the kitchen, looking for something to make for dinner, when she passes Kat and I sitting at the island and stops.

"You two smell like saltwater," she says. "Was it beach day today, or something? Somebody bring in a beach-scented perfume?"

Kat and I look at each other, and before any debate over what to say can happen, I quickly answer, "That's weird. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mhm." Mama breathes in deep and smiles softly. "You smell like the island. Not this island, of course-" she gestures to the slab of wood we're seated at- "But Cuba."

This thought makes her brown eyes go alight, and she scurries to the fridge and digs around for a moment before turning back towards us and saying, "That inspired me. I think I'll make vaca frita for dinner! I know I can't cook like Abuela, but I can make it work..."

She sets off to begin the cooking process of the Cuban-style shredded beef, and my sister smiles at me, happy to be eating a family comfort food. In response, I take a deep breath, trying to absorb the summer clinging mistily to my eyes, but no matter how hard I try, I can't bring back the happiness I had earlier in the day.

You have to find out what Mor's issue is. Or at least, like, make up with him, I tell myself. He's the person who's going to be taking you to the afterlife, and if you jade him, who knows if he'll take it out on you? You're going to Heaven, and that's final.

It doesn't rain in Heaven. It's where Papa and Abuelo and all my other dead family members are. Most importantly, it's where Will is, and it's because of him that I'm cooperating with this whole process in the first place.

Who knows what I'd be like if Will hadn't died but Mor had still came. Most likely, I'd be kicking and screaming, needing desperately to say on the Earthly plane with those I love. But my best friend died now 4 months ago, and befriending the Grim Reaper may be my only way of seeing him again.

✕✕✕✕✕

A/N: Ugh I'm 3 days late but IN MY DEFENSE I spent the weekend away from my computer (in New York City!!) so it was hard for me to write.

As always, positive vibes! Stay awesome.

xoxo, Athena

✕✕✕✕✕