The Dead Don't Rest

When Clara decided to break up with Eric, that night something went wrong. And Eric won't let it be. He comes to her at night, but when Clara finally tells someone, she finds out that he died. But, why is he still there? Is it because he can't find his way to the Death Parade? Or is it something more sinister?

Standing at the edge of the shopping mall, waiting for Eric to arrive to the date I am about to watch fall to pieces. I know that Eric will be upset, but he is too dramatic. He throws himself around; he’s too much of a . . . actor. I’m more different than him. I’m a Boulvair, a perfect girl, a Daddy’s–little–go –getter. I never take no for an answer. And he said no to me. He said no to me. That is something I will not take. A boy on a skateboard rushes by me, almost knocking me down.

“Hey –” I stop myself. The security guards will catch him out soon. I get a glimpse of me in a shop window. Sighing, I admire myself. Electric blue eyes that girls would kill for, straight blonde hair that could be silk. My figure is perfection made into human form. Daddy used to say that I had the Boulvair looks, unlike my Mother. Each time my Daddy said about my Boulvair looks I knew it was a jab at my Mother.

Didn’t stop Daddy leaving though, did it? No, he left us, left us for that plastic–boob–job bimbo of a female of his. I doubt her face is even her own. She probably doesn’t even know what the Prefect Academy is. She couldn’t wear a mink coat and look glamorous like I do. But not my Mother, no, she has mousy face and she is too small for long coats. She always looks like a five year old trying on her Mother’s make-up and clothes. It’s pathetic. But, she got all of Daddy’s money when he left us, she got every single penny. Left them as poor beggars, and us as a rich daughter and Mother.

There is Eric, late as usual. He’ll be late for everything in his life, he will. I jerk at my rudeness; I never thought I had such cruelness in me. But, look at him. That is what he wears to a date. Baggy, ripped jeans and a red washed out hoodie. Absolutely pathetic once more. I don’t know how I could have liked that greasy, messy mop of black hair. No, don’t got that far, Clara. You know you have always loved running your fingers through his hair. I remind myself, but, still, it is greasy and messy.

A group of boys have walked up to Eric, but he doesn’t seem to be paying attention. He looks worried, I note. Well, good. He should be. He said no to me. That is unacceptable. He should be extremely worried; I’m never late, always five minutes early, he’s the one ten minutes late. Good riddance, I think, he was getting too grabby and insistent. Too grabby for my liking. I control things, he doesn’t. That’s the way it goes with me. Also, he’s too poor. He lives in the west end. I live in central, I’m popular and rich. Every girl wants to be me, every boy wants to be with me. I deserve better than Eric. I need better.

Eric now looks annoyed, angry. Now he knows how I feel when he is late, doesn’t he. Eric storms out of the shopping mall and catches the bus. Urgh.

 . . .

“And then I watched him. It was so funny, Amy. It really was.” Clara told her best friend Amy. She loved to shock Amy with her coldness sometimes, it was hilarious.

“Clara! I don’t believe this, you love him. You love Eric.” Amy exclaimed.

“No, I loved him. I used to love Eric. Not anymore, though, he was too . . . clingy is the word that I am looking for. Isn’t it?” Clara replied coldly. In the other side of town, south, Amy laid on her bed with soaking wet hair with a shocked expression.

“You’re so . . . horrible sometimes, Clara. You know that, right?” Amy replied angrily and she glared at the phone for no reason. Clara just laughed with no care in the world.

“I know, Amy. I think I’m turning into Jessica.” And Clara giggled as if the thought was funny.

“It’s not funny, Clara! Think of Eric, of how he is feeling. How would you feel?” Amy shouted at the other end of the phone. Amy heard Clara sigh at the other end.

“I know how he feels. He done this to me two weeks ago. I was hurt that he said no. Now he knows how he feels, and I am not sorry, Amy, not in the slightest.” Clara replied bluntly and Amy slammed her phone down on the home phone base. Amy immediately felt angry at herself, now she was turning into a rude girl. Sighing, Amy turned off her lamplight and curled up into a ball and fell asleep while Clara in the central part of town laughed at Amy’s reaction. God, how Amy was funny.

 . . .

Clara sprung awake sweating and panting. Something had woken her. Not her nightly occurring nightmare, no, a tap, a rustle, call of her name. Eric.

“Clara. Psst! Open the goddamn window! Ow! Please, do it – ow!” Eric whisper shouted from outside her window. Slowly, Clara got out of bed and opened the window.

“You took your time, didn’t you?” Eric hissed, Clara opened her mouth, getting ready to break his heart, but Eric interrupted.

“Never mind, never mind. Just move. Now, Clara.” Eric said harshly. With that, Eric jumped into Clara’s bedroom from the tree that towered over the house in the back garden.

“Eric, you idiot!” Clara seethed when her knocked a sixteenth century vase.

“You never came. Why?” Eric said quickly, as if wanting to avoid the subject but needing to know the answer.

“Because . . . wait, how . . . how did you get here? Your truck broke down two weeks ago. Didn’t it?” Clara asked, annoyed that Eric may have lied to her. Another thing to get him back at.

“Yes, it did. Joey brought me here, though.” Or not. “He’s out front, waiting for me. Wanna go to Hillsborough’s Top, again?” Eric asked Clara. Clara stared at him, flustered. I just turned him down, left him hanging, and he still asks me out. Idiot.

“But–you–I–but,” Clara said frustrated and she sighed, “sure.” And she got dressed. Quickly.

 . . .

“Isn’t this just exhilarating, Clara?” Eric shouted over the roar of the wind on Hillsborough’s Top.

“Eric, please, let’s go home. It’s cold and windy. I’m tired, Eric. Please – no! Don’t do that!” Clara moaned to Eric. Eric had gone to the very edge of the cliff and was hopping on one foot. If he lost even a little bit of his footing, he would be a goner.

“Eric! Stop this, please!” Clara shouted, scared.

“No, look, this is fun, Clara. Try it!” Eric replied, slightly high from adrenaline. Then, a gush of wind came and he lost it.

“No!” Clara shouted.

“Clara!” Eric screamed as he realised he should have stopped ages ago. That he shouldn’t have even gone to Clara’s house. That she was just using him, he was a pawn on her chess board of a life. Clara ran. Not to Eric, but away. She ran to Joey’s van, and she drove off. Not crying. Nothing. Then, a truck came in view and Clara screamed. She screamed for her life. And everything went black.

 . . .

Clara woke up and she couldn’t move. First, she panicked, then the memories hit her and she could just hear whispers in the room that she was in.

“She doesn’t know, does she?” Someone asked.

“No, no she doesn’t.” Another replied.

The End

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