Sirenz Back in Fashion
really need to learn that lesson again? At least he allowed me to keep my purse.
    Dim shapes started to weave their way toward me. Little by little, I could distinguish features—of people.
    Maybe they could help! “When you’re lost,” my mom always said, “don’t be an idiot like your father; stop and ask for directions!”
    â€œHello! Over here!” I hurried as fast as I could, trying not to break an ankle on the uneven terrain. As I drew closer, the shadowy people started moving toward me, and faster.
    â€œHi, um, do you know where I’m supposed to go? I’m new here.” I gave them my sunniest smile. And lost it when I could really see them. One man had a wide, mud-caked tire imprint across his chest, and was that dried blood on his face? Two teenagers in medieval dress had arrows sticking out of them—one in the body, the other in the head, execution style. A woman, dressed in a bathrobe with only half her makeup on, tried to shove them aside. All had an ashen pallor and dark circles under their empty eyes. I’d seen enough horror movies to know the situation.
    They’re dead!
    And the moment of death was captured in each one’s appearance. An older gentleman, in ancient-warrior battle garb, might have died heroically given the big gash in his chest, but he was frowning and snarling. One of his hands reached for me, cold and clammy. I yelped and jumped, trying to back away, and broke out in a sweat as icy fingers clutched at my elbows, arms, and shoulders. Zombie Hell!
    â€œCoin for Charon! Coin for Charon!” the gray shades beseeched, their faces slack. The motley crowd pushed closer, more insistent. I pulled farther away, cringing from contact.
    Charon. Now where had I heard that weird name before?
    Epiphany: Doom. Gloom. Dead People. He put me in a bikini. Persephone’s at a dude ranch …
    Hades sent me to Tartarus!
    â€œEwww! Don’t touch me! Don’t have any coins! Back up, personal space violations!” Steeling myself, I shoved my way through them; they felt cold like snow, yet strangely dry. I hurried down the shoreline to an empty place. They didn’t follow, so I guessed they got the message. That’s when I noticed all the bones. Chairs made from arm bones. A miniature temple of interwoven thigh bones. A table crafted of skulls and ribs. Even a diminutive Eiffel Tower, which I think was made of finger bones … Bleached eerily white, they were everywhere! Hoping my stomach wouldn’t lose that morning’s breakfast, I ran farther down the river.
    When I was a safe distance away, I considered what my next action would be while hyperventilating.
    Scream? Who would care?
    Cry? Who would care?
    Run? Who would care?
    The infinite no-one-cares-about-me loop.
    â€œThanks, Hades!” I hiccupped. I didn’t have a coin for Charon, so what was I going to do when the ferryman showed up? Maybe I could sweet-talk my way across the river. I wasn’t in a hurry to get to the other side, but I sure didn’t want to stay here with the moaners and grabbers.
    WWMD? What Would Meg Do? That Death card! Some change this was!
    And where was she? I’d been so caught up in myself I hadn’t given a thought to her. I dreaded the idea of where Hades might send her. He was obsessed with me, and I got sent here . To what god-awful place would he send her? A mall? A meatpacking plant? A Barry Manilow concert? Poor Meg!
    I plopped down ungracefully, not bothering to cross my legs like a lady should, for a good long pity party for both of us.
    â€œJohnson! Sharisse Johnson!” someone called.
    I perked up. Someone was looking for me! I didn’t recognize the voice, so it wasn’t Hades. Retribution would have to wait. I jumped up on top of a rock and cupped my hands around my mouth.
    â€œOver here! I’m over here!” I waved my hands violently, although I doubted anyone could see me through the
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