Undertakers open my mother’s coffin, everyone screamed in misery. But I was happy, seeing that finally, my mother could rest in perfect peace — and not stay up all night waiting for my father to come back from the beer parlour, with him smelling like different women and cigar.

While everyone wailed and cried, “Sarah, why did you leave us!” I stood there, rigid, and unsure how to react.

Do I commend the doctors for ensuring that she had her hand on her tummy like when she took pictures; that her golden dreadlocks rested on her shoulders, or that she wore a wedding gown?

It was symbolic anyway. The day she wore that dress, when she walked down that aisle, was the beginning of her death.

The priest gave a breezy sermon, my mind fazed through reality, ignoring sweaty bodies and sniffing noses. Focusing more on the scorching sun, and the buzzing flies.

I felt my crotch itch, I couldn’t scratch it.

Her coffin was closed, finally, I said my last goodbye with a glance at her face.

Her golden locks never looked so bright.

We must have dampened her shine.

Dust to dust. Take the shovel and sprinkle her cross. Thirteen years ago, I threw sand on my mother’s body when we went to the beach. She laughed. Wondered why she wasn’t smiling this time.

“Kess, you have to cry.” My uncle said, whispering into my ear. I hated anyone touching me. I hated people coming that close.

We left the burial site immediately after the last shovel of sand went in. The longest trip of my life, I wondered if we could roll the credits already.

That this was a movie, and I was the star actor, and this was the first part of my series, leading my character development to the part where I would awaken Hades to give a life to get back the life of my mother.

“Kess, do you want to eat?”

Even the fan knew it lost its buyer today. Placed on number 5 but it still slowed down.

“No, I’m not hungry,” I said to the person that came to check up on me. I laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Wanted to get out of the house but it was filled with people my mother didn’t like, saying nice things they didn’t mean, bringing food we didn’t need.

Going would mean pity faces, irritating touches, and automated “Take heart dears.”

So I laid on my bed, avoiding the world.

“I made Beans, you sure you don’t want to eat some, Baba?”

“No, thanks, I’m really okay.”

Turned to the other side of the bed.

“You didn’t cry today, why was that?”

I heard the sound of the door closing. This person must be a distant relative or family friend that didn’t know me personally. Because if she did, she would have known that I hated my doors closed.

Probably was sent by my dad to talk to me. Wrong move.

“Kess? Are you already sleeping?”

“I don’t have the power to talk.” I said, still lying on my side, with my back facing the person and the door.

“But you just said seven words.”

So practical.

“I did, but there were necessary.”

“So does what I want to know.”

“Please. I don’t want to go on a rampage. Can you leave my room?”

“Oh, but you do deserve to go on a rampage, Baba, just spill it all on me.”

I turned to face this person.

Some nerve she must have to talk to me like she knew about what I felt or who my mother was.

My body froze on the spot, I couldn’t decode what was happening.

Nobody was there.

“Baba, you should cry.”

“W-who are you?” I stuttered.

Probably the last person I thought would talk to me.

“Mom?”

“Yes Baba.” for some reason, I was relaxed. I sat back on my bed and took my former position, staring at the ceiling.

“Why mom, why did you die?”

Silence.

Then.

“I have a present for you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s Outside. I want to see you one last time.”

Quickly, I got out of bed and started for the door.

“Wait!” she said.

“Go to the window.”

I went over the window, opened it completely, and stared five storeys down.

“Why, mom?”

“You know I love you, right, Baba?”

“Yes, I do.”

“So, I want you to go outside through this window. To see me.”

There was an exciting heat in my chest. To think that the way to see my mom has been staring at me all these while.

I quickly went to the second room, where my little brother, Jamal, laid asleep. I picked him up and ran back to my room.

“JamJam, we are going to see mommy.”

I whispered in his ear.

I struggled to get out of the window through a slip. Jamal and I, floating through the air. Could feel the wind again my body, carrying me and my little brother, to meet our lovely mother.

Suddenly, the journey ended. Did the gate not open? The screams were deafening. Where were they coming from?

I could hear someone say, “Blood of Jesus!”

Where was it?

I brought my hands to my line of vision and found my fingers broken. With blood painted on them.

The pain sneaked through my spine, entered my brain, and shut down all my systems. My eyes died out. The last sense left was my ears, I heard running and crying and echoes before they stopped working.

Blank.

Then.

Light.

My mother’s face. Smiling with her eyes closed. Hands opened wide.

“Baba.” she said.

“Mom.”

She opened her eyes, black and red.

Blood ran from her eyes, down her cheeks, and stained her white robe.

It started to spread till everything turned to red.

Two horns shot out of her head.

Her teeth shot out fangs.

“Welcome, to Hades.”