Page 6 of Meet Me After Life

I suppose it wasn’t all bad. Most of the passengers were very sweet. Families and friends all travelling together. Pointing at cows and cyclops that grazed on blue grass as we drove past. I even spied a rare two-toed drop bear, but no one heard me when I pointed it out. I think I was the only lone passenger. Which sounds depressing, but actually the extra legspace was really nice. The empty seat beside me held my backpack only. It wasn’t lonely. Not at all. The scenery was quite charming, and at one point the crack fairy cut off a squad of Fae cyclists resulting in a horrific pile-up, so that was a bit exciting.

I take a left and enter the kitchen. Still no toilet. Although that sink is starting to look like a rather attractive alternative. I shove the moth-bitten curtains above the sink aside. The darkness scatters like bugs beneath a lifted rock.

You know what, the kitchen isn’t so bad. It has a chic early noughties vibe to it, reminiscent of the reign of sheep-shifter-sensation Britney Sheers. That shifter could bleat with the best of them.

And a coffee machine! Neat.

The fridge is noisy, but I’m delighted to note it’s actually working! Another win. I make a note of the basics to grab next time I go to the grocers, but I can’t go mad like I usually do. Note to self: must find employment.

Although the move here was relatively cost effective due to government grants, the government will not grant me food to live on. That would appear to be up to me alone. When I open my wallet, it physically hurts. I need to make some cash. And since I go a little stir crazy and become a tad self-destructive without interaction, it’s best I pick up work fast, anyway. I wish I was someone who wasn’t so needy. I wish I was someone who could be a lone, mysterious, serious wolf. But I’m not. As it turns out, my personality is closer to a demented rat than it is an apex predator. I know this about myself. Alone, I suffer. Alone I have nothing to focus on but myself, and that’s never a good thing. So – finding a job goes to the top of the to-do list.

Releasing my hair from its tightly bound confines, my fingers snag in the knots of my long tresses and my head tips back. I jump. The lounge isn’t the only place with a mirrored roof.

My reflection stares back at me. Too-wide blue eyes, one slightly arched nose, a pair of pale lips with rose-peach gloss applied for a little added colour. I don’t know what this mirrored version of me wants – but she looks judgy. My finger’s still play tug of war, lost in the mop at the back of my head. I should cut it. New place, new hair, new me. As per our previous discussion, I loathe change, and thus only want to do it once in this life. Might as well change everything now and be done with it. Who knows, maybe I’ll get a nose ring too. Tilly got her septum pierced when she was fourteen as a quiet act of rebellion. We were both meant to get it done, but I chickened out at the last second. I’ve always been a bit like that. Never a main character, always an NPC. The morbidity creeping into my internal monologue has manifested between my brows in a congregation of fine wrinkles.

From the corner of my eye, I see what looks like the shadow of a large being behind me, green glowing eyes bore through my soul. I gasp, turning. But when I look around, all I see is more of the dated decor.

Alright, that’s it. Enough moping for today. It’s driving me literally insane. Three Brightside’s.

Let’s go, Miller.

The kitchen is connected to a small verandah that leads out back. I look out the low-set windows sitting passenger to the solid oak back door and peer through. Frondescence scales the white-washed picket fence, and overgrown grass that looks near hip-level sways in the breeze like it’s lost to the chorus of an old Billy Mole number. Brightside #1: Solid garden.

I walk back through the kitchen and into the lounge and survey its meagre offerings. I cringe. No, none of that! Brightside #2: Mirror ceilings – slightly creepy, but also functional. And brightside #3… I walk around the room, until my gaze snags on the small low-lit hallway with the stairs. There’s a door at the end of it. It’s very dark.

It feels quite eerie. But maybe my brightside will be down here.

My fingers glide across the handle and turn slowly.

I open the door and sigh.

Brightside number #3.

I found the loo!

Making myself comfortable, I settle in for a languid piss, and take the opportunity to observe the calendar before me of dogs shitting in scenic settings. March is my favourite.

My foot starts tapping. I shake it out. Won’t be long now. The beat is coming.

I’m just wrapping things up when I hear a sinister bok from behind the door.

Huh.

I flush and go to investigate, but my jazz hands make it really hard to grip the handle.

‘Bop bow.’ My voice lilts. Oh no. It’s starting.

I finally manage to open the door and slam it with a flair.

There is a rooster with my panties in its mouth. The little fiend must have gone through the bags I dropped by the door.

‘You motherclucker.’

The cock makes a run for it. I give chase, while my body begins to twitch and I start scatting. I cannot express enough how much of a hindrance it is to break into jazz walking while chasing a chicken.

‘Skibbidi boo bop!’ Scat jazz spills from my lips. Damnit. The beat juice has got me good.

Down the hall, through the lounge, into the kitchen. I pivot, turn, and ball kick. The cock runs under the table, and back out to the lounge we go. I would’ve caught him already if it hadn’t been for my hands clicking every time I went to grab him. Fucking beat juice!