Seeing how my family handled my death, I lost any desire to come back to life. What was the point? No one cared when I was alive and no one cared now that I was gone. I might as well disappear completely.
However, the King of Hell had other plans. A restriction was placed on my soul. Until the game was over, for the next seven days, I would be confined to a fifty-meter radius around my closest relatives. I couldn’t leave, no matter how much I wanted to.
This was the second day of my death. I had witnessed my hasty cremation and was still waiting for a single tear to be shed in my honor. So far, I have collected zero tears.
Twenty-eight more days until this game ended.
After they returned from the crematorium, my mother and father spent the rest of the day meticulously searching through the rubble of the old house that had burned down, looking for something to salvage.
Then, after they finished, they acted as if nothing had happened. They left the house and went to the next-door neighbor to play chess.
On the morning of the third day, I followed them back to our home in town.
When they arrived and opened the door, I immediately saw my boyfriend, Peter Warren sitting on the couch with his hand wrapped around my sister’s shoulder. They looked so harmonious sitting there.
I was appalled by their audacity. I wondered when all of these had started. How long had they been together? I had not even noticed the signs.
Judging by the way they were so relax, I supposed my death had lifted the burden of secrecy from them and now they could openly flaunt their affair.
Yet surely, when my parents saw Peter, their daughter’s boyfriend, in a relationship with both sisters, they would be outraged, right?
As I thought this, I was immediately slapped hard in the face by reality.
"Peter, you're here!" My mother beamed. Her face lighted up with a happy smile. "You and Isabella sit tight. You stay here for lunch, okay? I'll have your uncle buy your favorite dishes and Auntie will cook for you."
When my father heard that, he immediately hopped onto his electric scooter, ready to head out to buy the groceries.
“Dad, don’t mess up the order this time!” My sister, Isabella, called out from behind him as he rode the bike.
“Don’t worry, Isabella. Peter has been coming here enough times. How could I forget what he likes to eat?” my father responded confidently.