She faces me in the narrow darkened hallway. Her hands in fists, teeth clenched, her gray and brown streaked eyes blaring in consideration, determination, and anger. I back away quiet as if she can’t see what I’m doing. Only then did she blink, and out of her eyes came dust of every color in a faint, almost unnoticeable stream. She doesn’t come any closer, but a minute later she raises her fist allowing all her hair to cover her face. With trembling hands she lifted the first finger . . . one, another . . . two. I waited in horror and shock for the third but found she paused long enough for my whole body to go numb. Without feeling my hand was raised as a fist, the whispers tingle my ear. “One”, it exclaimed. “Two”, getting closer.
“Three.”
Then, it happened. And I knew everything.
The house was falling apart. She was stuck in her room with no escape. She began to scream until she heard sirens out the window, but by then she was blocked away from everything but her bed. Like every other little girl, she found comfort hiding under the covers, having no idea that the walls were closing in around her. She lowered her blanket and I could see her expression, unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed before. She knew she was going to die. Her angelic brown hair and blue eyes blazed as she took in the image around her. Face expressionless, but in the mist of her eyes you could see dread as this was worse than fate, but unknowingly eternity.
She looked up just then and noticed something I haven’t even pondered. Above the toppled bed, hanging from the ceiling, was a piece of wood, seemingly the last to fall out of place. But this one had a point so sharp that the tiniest touch could prick your finger. She stared at the wood, daring it to break and fall onto her.
The people outside were yelling now, screaming out her name. “Seva, Seva”, they called, but she didn’t answer, and the screaming subsided to faint yells.
Now they were coming to her room somehow, she could hear their fast paced footsteps coming closer. And she started screaming, telling them not to come, so loudly they were sure to hear. She sobbed trying to take in air but found herself gulping it down. They had reached her; she let out one last tear and whimper. Then, the door opened, and . . .
It fell.
The last thing that came to my mind was the way her eyes glistened with the sad hope of love after death, and the emotionless evil sobs of death itself.
I jerked upright and turned my face towards the little ghostly girl in front of me. Her expression was hard, staring at me with a sly sheepish anger. Tears forced the edge of my eyes with what I have just seen and one by one a slow stream emerged down my face. I looked back up and I swore for a moment I saw her face soften and the look in her eyes turn to sorrow, but it left as quickly as it came. And just like that she was gone.
I crawl down the hall to the edge of the staircase and use the railing to pull myself up. I had this strange urge to jump down the stairs, and a new outlook engulfed me. I was suddenly aware that if I died right then there was a chance that somebody was out there waiting for me to meet them. It made me feel loved in a strange way. Thankfully the feeling faded and I was suddenly terrified of the thought.
I turned to face the hallway mirror and cautiously looked in. I noticed the way my black hair was now brown and curly and the green in my eyes turned to blue. Tears streaming down my face in every color, it was actually sort of . . . beautiful.

Then I was her face behind me and right before she took me I noticed how much I now resembled her.
She pushed me.
I fell down the stairs.
The last thing I remember was a sharp piece of wood dangling above me. I looked up to it and it made me feel empowered. By then I was daring it to break off until I heard footsteps coming closer to me. A single tear glided down my cheek as I started screaming to them, telling them not to come. But they did.
And . . .
It fell.