The first handful of dirt hits my face. It slams against my lips, slides into my mouth, grinds between my teeth. I spit immediately, but another shovelful is already falling. Mud sticks to my skin, seeps into my hair. My tongue pushes the soil out of my mouth. The taste is dry. Mineral. Above me, the sky is gray, but I barely see it. A silhouette blocks almost all the light while the shovel scrapes the earth. Scrape. Lift.

  Dirt falls again. They’re burying me. Another shovelful strikes my nose. Soil forces its way in. I sniff, cough, shake my head. Air struggles through my chest. The shovel continues with the same rhythm. There is no hesitation in the motion. Do they know I’m alive? Maybe not. Maybe they do. It doesn’t matter.

  My fingers are already moving. My hand rises toward the surface before I even decide anything. Mud slides along my arm while I reach upward. The shovel stops. No more dirt. Silence falls into the hole. Then a hand grabs my arm. The pull is brutal. My body leaves the pit in a single motion. My shoulders scrape the edge. Light strikes my eyes. Air floods my lungs and I cough violently. Once. Twice.

  The ground is far below. How did I get pulled up this high? Debris surrounds the place. Twisted metal. Broken boards. Mountains of garbage circling the area. Wood. Plastic. Carcasses of broken objects piled on top of each other. A dump.

  The ground rushes up. My body stays loose. My legs bend at the moment of impact. The shock climbs through my muscles and vanishes immediately. My feet slide in the mud, but I keep my balance. I stay still for a second. Strange. My legs moved on their own, as if something pushed the motion.

  Where am I?

  A rusted shovel sticks out of the ground. Beside it, a torn bag spills gray plastic. A broken plank juts from a pile of debris. Behind me, the silhouette climbs out of the pit. A girl. The hole is deep. She climbs out anyway. She straightens at the edge of the pit and stands still for a few seconds, upright, chin slightly raised. Some dirt clings to her black dress. She lowers her gaze. Her hand taps the fabric gently. Once. Twice. Mud falls back into the pit. She smooths the red band with her fingertips. Then she lifts her head toward me. And she smiles.

  Her body is slender. Her hair falls to her shoulders. Silver at the roots. Red at the ends. Each strand tied with small black ribbons. Three. Five. Seven. Why am I counting? My eyes rise toward her face. Her eyes stop me. One is amber. Clear. Calm. The other is black. Inside the black pupil, red lines turn slowly. The movement is precise. Why is her pupil moving?

  I understand.

  I keep looking. It feels pleasant. My jaw tightens. She spins lightly in place, the motion light, almost joyful. Her black dress opens for a moment before falling back into place. Red bands cross the fabric. She walks toward me, still smiling. I just climbed out of a grave. She looks happy. My foot steps back into the mud. Then my body steps forward. Come closer. No. Yes.

  She tilts her head. One finger lifts and approaches my face. It touches my cheek. Her eyes are amber. I look again. They are black. The red lines turn. I blink. They are still turning. Why am I still looking?

  She speaks softly.

  “Lyssa thought you were dead.”

  Her voice is gentle. Her smile widens. My feet move forward again.

  “You like looking at Lyssa.”

  Not really. Yes. Those eyes are beautiful. I want to touch them. Push my fingers into them and pull them out so I can keep them. My fist tightens. I release it. Her face moves closer. Her breath touches my skin. My eyes remain locked on hers. Amber. Red.

  “Your gaze is like Lyssa’s. It accepts death.”

  Her voice resonates more than I hear it. The red lines spin faster. Pressure moves through my skull. Red. The sky tilts. No. The ground rises. Red. The edges of the world blur. Debris around us turns slowly in my vision. I sink into the red.

  I inhale slowly.

  I am still standing.

  Her face is too close. She suddenly steps back and bends toward the ground. Her fingers pick something up. A hatchet. The handle is short. The blade wide, stained with mud. She studies it with the same smile.

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  “Today… Lyssa has a fit of madness.”

  The metal catches the gray light of the sky.

  “Let’s see who today is blessed by death.”

  She throws the hatchet. The handle passes near my face. The blade spins in the air. Once. Twice. The hatchet rises until it disappears into the gray sky.

  The hatchet was red.

  Lyssa grabs my face between her hands. Her fingers are cold. Her eyes fill my vision. Black. Red. The lines spin. I feel her fingers slip between mine. Her skin is soft. Her fingers tighten. I pull slightly. She doesn’t let go. She smiles.

  “Lyssa likes it when people play.”

  She takes a step. My body follows. Mud sticks under my shoes. The smell of rust and damp garbage rises from the dump.

  Why am I dancing?

  She laughs.

  “AHAHAHAHA.”

  The sound is clear. Happy.

  Our feet pivot slowly in the mud. The dump rotates in my peripheral vision. I pull slightly against her grip. Her fingers tighten. She laughs again.

  “AHAHAHAHA.”

  My breathing speeds up. My vision narrows to her face. My feet slide. A bottle rolls under my heel. I slip, then recover my balance. Her fingers tighten around mine.

  “Lyssa likes dancing.”

  Her face passes close to mine. I feel her breath. My lungs drag air faster. Again. A piece of metal slices lightly into my leg. I turn my hip. I push against her hands to change the direction.

  She laughs louder.

  “AHAHAHAHA!”

  Her hair strikes my face. Red. My lungs burn. Air comes in ragged bursts. Her eyes. Red. The lines spin faster. I trip over the shovel. Her pull straightens me instantly. Her face is inches away. Her eyes fill my vision. Red.

  My throat tightens. I clench my teeth.

  Lyssa laughs again.

  “AHAHAHAHA!”

  Lyssa’s dress is red. My clothes too. My shoulders tremble. A sound rises in my throat. I clench my teeth but it escapes anyway.

  “Ah—”

  She stops for a fraction of a second. Her eyes shine. Then she bursts into laughter again.

  “AHAHAHAHA!”

  “Ahahahaha.”

  I like dancing.

  Let’s dance in the blood.

  My body burns. Cuts open along my legs. Good. They turn red like this place. My chest tightens. I breathe. I laugh. Red. I extend my arm and spin Lyssa.

  A voice leaves my mouth.

  “Dance.”

  I look at her face. Her smile disappears for a moment. Her eyes remain locked on mine. Her expression freezes.

  The ground is deep red. Yet we float across its surface. The noise fades away. There are only our steps. Her hands in mine. Mine in hers.

  We turn.

  Red drops strike my legs. It stings. Another splash slices the skin of my calf. A burning line runs along my leg. Another strikes my shin. Then another. The surface explodes beneath our steps. It burns. It hits.

  Red splashes against my skin and clings there. Thin shining lines open along my legs where the liquid strikes. The fluid runs, rejoins the surface, disappears into the red around us.

  Perfect.

  Let’s dance more.

  My foot slides, drawing a circle in the red mud. The other follows. Our fingers remain locked. I pull slightly. Her body pivots toward me and her dress spins around her legs. The fabric sweeps the air while our steps strike the wet ground. Splashes climb to our ankles. My arm extends, pushing her away for a moment, then pulls her back. Our bodies cross, avoid each other, return again.

  The circle tightens.

  Our feet slide along the same path. The world tilts around us. Her body brushes mine. Heat from her skin crosses the fabric. I release one of her hands and throw her forward. She moves with the motion, her body stretching, her dress opening in the air. Then she returns. My palm finds her waist and pulls her sharply back. Our steps almost collide, separate, return to the red.

  Our breathing slows for a moment.

  The world grows silent.

  Her hands.

  Mine.

  Our breaths stop.

  My legs bend then extend. I pull again. She spins once. Then a second time. Her dress cuts through the air around her. My hands return to her waist. I lift her.

  Her body rises against mine. Her arms open toward the sky. Her hair falls into my face while we hang suspended above the red.

  A whistle cuts the air. I hear the impact. The blade passes through the top of her skull. The handle trembles. Lyssa does not move.

  She murmurs.

  “Ah.”

  She smiles.

  “I am blessed.”

  Then—

  “AHAHAHAHA.”

  Blood slides along her temple.

  “AHAHAHAHA.”

  My hands release. Her body falls. Mud splashes. My breathing accelerates. My body tenses. My vision blurs. My body burns. What… what—

  The laughter continues. I step back. No. My legs move. Run. Far. Fast. Run.

  My feet strike the ground. Slide. Push again. Air burns inside my chest. Too fast. Too hard. Debris passes around me. Metal. Wood. Glass. Run. Run. Run.

  Behind me—

  “AHAHAHAHA.”

  I turn. The hatchet is still buried in her skull. And she is still laughing.