I wake to feel blood pounding in my ears. My head throbs with pain and I take a deep breath. Tears stain my face and my heart thuds heavily within its cage. I cannot hear; I cannot see... at least not how I used to.
I still see his face flashing before my eyes; I remember arguing. He'd gone insane, and the next thing I'd known he'd set the house aflame. My mother and father had been gone that day on a business trip. I was left alone in the house. I thought it would be alright. Then he showed up. I don't remember who he is or why we were arguing, but I know I must find him.

I try to sit up, but my skin begins to tear apart. The burns are worse than I can bear. I try to whimper or cry, but my throat feels like thick, musty charcoal and I fear that ash will spout from my mouth if I try to utter the words that are swirling about my mind.

I barely manage to take a breath. I see my mother rush in. I can hear my father's muffled voice in the other room. Something is amiss. My mother does not see that I am awake. She is crying. I try to speak again, but I cannot find the words.

I look to my left. I see my heart monitor has stopped beeping. I let out a gasp as I realize that I am dead. My soul has begun to leave my body; I wonder if I'm doomed to wander the earth forever as a tortured spirit. I try to comfort my mother, but she does not hear me.

The world goes dark.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I wake. I am somewhere different now. I am in my casket. I feel myself being lowered into the ground. I cannot see them, but I hear my family uttering their last words about me. I try to break free of the casket and find that I am able to slip through its solid door.
I look about my gravestone and see what words my family chose to commemorate me with. I am pleased by what I see and I start to make my way about my own funeral. It's rather surreal. The birds are singing and little squirrels chatter in the trees; death does not deter them. They continue to play, as they are oblivious to the world.

I no longer feel pain. I am no longer half-way between death and life, but I feel empty. I feel as though I must find who killed me. I look about and see his face. He tries to hide his guilt, and my family does not know it was he who killed me. I try to speak out, but they do not hear me.

I point to him rapidly, I throw things at him, and I try to make them see, but they don't know. I find the resolve to follow him. He gets in a car with his parents and I sit next to him. For a moment, I think he notices me, but the flicker of recognition soon fades.

I put my hand on his and stare at him to try and make him uncomfortable. He does not see me, but I know he feels me, because he shivers and goose-bumps rise up on his arms.

"Who are you?" I say.
He does not respond.
I am not pleased by this, and so I continue to watch him. We pull into the driveway of a quaint little home. His father looks angry and yanks his son out of the car by his collar.

"Come on, son. You've got chores to do."
I think it's odd that his father treats his son like he is still five. I get an odd feeling, so I follow. He goes into his house and into a little room. He begins to pick up his things and his father comes in behind him.

"You get rid of everything in here, or I'll beat you."
He leaves.
I see tears form in the boys eyes.
"Oh, Lily... I wish you were here..." he says softly.
So that is my name.
"Lily," I say softly.

I like my name. It fits me well, as I feel like a dainty flower that is floating on the air. But I feel a sense of sorrow fill the room that begins to weigh me down.

"I'm so sorry. I had to kill you. I didn't want to. You wouldn't run away with me. I had to set you free of them. They hurt you just like my parents hurt me. I'm so sorry," he says.

I do not remember being hurt. I only remember loving my family. I come to his side and put my arms around him. He senses me, but does not see me.

"I hope you can forgive me," he says.
"Of course I can. I may not know your name, but I can forgive you," I whisper.
"I know you're there. If you can hear me, don't leave me," he whispers.
I see a look of fear in his eyes, and I feel pity for him.
"I won't." I say.

And I never do.