The Otherworld

Cecilia blew her nose for the thousandth time this morning. She sat on the couch in the family room, used tissues polluting the floor, and a remote in her hand. Last night she came home after work around six and had dinner with her family like she normally would. After showering, she crawled in bed without drying her hair and went to sleep with the window open. She woke up with the tips of her hair frozen solid and her nostrils leaking snot.

After a hot morning bath at three in the morning, she felt worse than she had had felt before the bath. Now her hair wasn't frozen or knotted, but her nose was still running and her head felt like hot air and helium.

She cursed herself for her stupidity and cradled her head in her right palm, squeezing her eyes shut. She contorted her body into a ball by pressing her legs against her chest and resting her forehead on her knees. Spongebob's squeaky and pubescent voice rang loud from the television, but she couldn't truly hear him. The television was like buzzing noise that went into one ear and out the other.

The sides of her head were pounding at a 2 by 4 beat and breathing was becoming a laborious necessity. She slowly climbed off the sofa so not to trigger any more light-headiness or nausea and ventured into her kitchen in search of allergy medication and some very strong coffee.

She heated up water in a tea kettle and placed a mug with instant coffee next to the sink. She dug into the drawers and pulled out a box of benadryl pills. She popped one out and pushed the large pill in between her lips, swallowing it dry. The tea kettle whistled and she turned the gas off before filling her mug. She placed the kettle back onto the stove and cradled the hot mug in her cold hands as she walked back to the family room and situated herself back into a ball on the couch.

Cecilia's parents were both at work. They own a jewellery store in the centre of the next town over which they opened a year after Cecilia was born. It was one of her mum's dreams to run her own business in a small town filled with her favourite things. Her father could never take that dream from his love and he didn't know what else to do anyway.

Almost 17 years ago, her parents were penniless and living with her mother's parents. While her mother was finishing her last few months at community college, her father knew nothing of business and hardly qualified for a job at Dunkin' Donuts. Her father's house was set on fire during the night and all his documents were lost along with his parents. He was essentially non-existent although now that Cecilia ponders on it, his birth records should still be at a hospital and proof of his education should still be in whatever school he attended. She wondered if she should ask him about it once more, but she knew that he would find a loophole. He always does.

“I was home schooled,” he would say. And then, “My mother gave birth to me on the driveway as my father had a near panic attack.” At least his fabricated stories were entertaining.

Cecilia breathed in the strong scent of her black coffee and relished in the cleared sinus track if only for a few seconds. She gingerly pressed her lips to the rim of the mug and blew lightly into the steaming liquid. The steam fogged up her glasses and she slowly sipped her coffee before placing it on the table in front of her. She grabbed the remote and lowered the television's volume. It was starting to worsen her headache.

Her thoughts led her back to her father once more. She often thought about her father when she wasn't in school or at work. If her mind wasn't occupied by something as menial as focusing on a game of tic-tac-toe, her thoughts would instantly be on her father. He was a mysterious fellow who, despite his eccentric attitude and happy-go-lucky personality, he kept many secrets to himself. He always had an answer for everything though and people believed his every word. One question regarding his family and he would go into the same sob story as always and with just a couple forced tears, he was left alone and the subject was changed immediately.

Cecilia knew better though. She could tell her father lied about his whole life and she knew that not even her mother was aware of the whole truth. On occasion, she would sometimes hear her mother wondering out loud to herself if she was dating a mentally-ill man. Legally, her parents can't get married because her father doesn't actually exist in society, but so far, they've got everybody fooled.

Aodren's and Candace's daughter doesn't know the truth or how much information has been exchanged between them, but she was very sure that her father wasn't mentally-ill or insane. Her father was a liar and a manipulator, but he was intelligent and so innocent it was to the point where he could be considered childish. But Cecilia loved her father despite the little trust he has towards her and she would rather be told blatant lies than be silenced and neglected.

Cecilia sighed and used her fingers to message her throbbing temples. At this moment, her pain was different than what it had previously been. A minute ago her head felt light and the sides of her head pounded at a set pace, now her forehead and the back of her head pounded irregularly.

She gasped heavily and grasped her head as hard as she could. It felt like it was going to fall apart, piece by piece. The pain was so sudden and of extraordinary power, she was taken by surprise. Her pulse quickened incredibly and her blood boiled within her veins. Her legs started to shake as the rest of her body rippled in massive pain. She felt liquid run from her nose and she placed her finger on her top lip to stop it. She lifted her hand away and stared at the blood dripping from her hand. She felt that she now understood what it was like to die in great pain, but she never thought that she would die so passionately from a mere cold.

A tall figure clad in black hovered over her, its cold fingers pressing against her forehead gently. Before she blacked out she looked up and looked into the face of death. Mentally, she sighed and rolled her eyes. If by chance she lives to see another day, she is going to make sure to always blow dry her hair and sleep with the window closed to avoid boiling blood, colossal pain, and tall, attractive men.