6

  I open my eyes and the first thing that greets me from my sleep is a woman’s face. She smiles and I see the way her fine lines creased her rather old face. I glare as I slowly sit up straight. The woman hums beside me and continues sewing.

  “Where am I?” I ask after a while because I don’t know if I should be asking this.

  “My dear, you’re at home.” she answers calmly without looking up from her work. “Now go down and eat your breakfast. Your sister’s waiting for you.” that’s strange. Who was she supposed to be?

  “W-who are you?” I hold my head between my hands. I feel awful, like my head’s filled with water. I’m drowning but I don’t look like it.

  “Well, aren’t you a joker. Hurry up and go down, already.” she inserts the needle into the cloth she’s holding and she looks like she’s enjoying it.

  “I’m not joking. Who are you?” I scrunch my nose and stare at her. She stops and looks up at me. Her face darkens slightly, kind of menacing and she doesn’t smile. She speaks but something blocks her words and the only thing I heard from her was, bleeeep this isn’t funny, go downstairs, bleeeep.

  It’s like those in televisions wherein a character says an offensive word and for the sake of viewers who were still children, they censor it and stuff. I raise an eyebrow and I wonder if it really is an offensive word. But it doesn’t look like it.

  She doesn’t return to sewing but she continues to stare at me with a stern look. She points to the door with her bony finger and I quickly leave the room without another word. I walk down the stairs but once in a while I take a look at the door and I see a quarter of her face from the