Haunting Grey

Trees rush by me in a blur.

The police found her body, my father had said.

That was impossible. I'd just spoken to her.

Unless—

"Oh God," I whisper.

"Grey," she says my name softly. "Why are you crying?"

"Because," I answer. "You're not here anymore."

Then I see her—I mean really see her. Her hair is tangled and matted with red—with blood. It's dripping onto the forest floor, mixing with the dirt and leaves.

But that's not the worst.

The worst is her face—her right cheek and eye are collapsed, pieces of flesh, blood and muscle visible.

"Jesus." I can't breathe, can't bare to look at my best friend.

"What's wrong?" she asks. "You look like you're going to be sick."

Doesn't she know what happened to her?

"Your face," I say weakly. "Nat, can't you feel it?"

Her eye—her good one—is clouded over in confusion. Then she reaches up gingerly to touch her cheeks, and her whole expression changes, and she smiles.

"You're playing a joke on me, aren't you?" her voice is amused, but clipped. "Well, it's not funny."

You're dead, Natalie.

I don't say it. Instead, the ground rushes at me as I pass out.