WATTYS 2023 SHORTLIST
Cara, a troubled college dropout, finds herself slowly falling for a handsome stranger - who turns out to be Death incarnate. But the arrival of a mysterious being puts Death's home for lost souls and his very existence at risk...
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I have to admit: Sarah has great taste in music.
The next couple of hours fade away as we all sway to her playlist, covering the peeling walls with dark crimson paint. With everyone's help, it hadn't taken nearly as long as I'd expected to sweep and wipe down the room's many surfaces, which now gleam almost like new. Lisa was more than happy to squeeze into the hard to reach spaces, and my mouth had nearly been stuck in a permanent "O" when Paul levitated in order to dust the trim near the towering ceiling.
But while the music and company has lifted my mood, there's still a stream of my thoughts that seem to permanently trail Death. I find myself constantly aware of where he is in the room, of whether he looks to be enjoying himself or not. It's exhausting, and makes it much harder to ignore him as I have been doing. Because right now, I don't trust myself to be near him, to avoid the desire that's become a living thing inside of me.
"You call this music?" Louis scoffs from his corner of the room. Earlier he'd pulled a chair over to the wall and sat down, pretending to help with the painting. Pretending, because he'd never actually dipped his brush into the paint bucket before passing it over the wall. To be honest, I'm just glad he'd decided to join us at all, even if his presence isn't much of a help.
Sarah gasps, affronted, and whirls around. "How dare you! Britney Spears is a queen."
"Royalty or not, I hardly see how that makes a difference," Louis tutters. "Blood status has no place in artistic integrity."
Suddenly, Lisa squeals in outrage and holds out her ballerina shirt, which Sarah had unknowingly flung fat drops of scarlet paint onto. "Lisa, oh god, I'm so sorry!" Sarah's brow bunches together, genuinely apologetic. Until Lisa's eyes narrow with mischief and she flings her own brush at Sarah, splattering paint onto her nose and eyelid. My next breath catches in my throat as I await Sarah's explosive reaction, and across the room I see Death tense up as well.
"Oh, little girl," Sarah growls dangerously. But there's a joyful light in her eyes that I don't recognize. "You're on."
All of a sudden, Sarah and Lisa are screaming, laughing, sprinting around the room and alighting themselves in the air in a paint fight for the ages. Both of them steadily become covered in paint, and despite the waste I find myself grinning.
"Hey, not on the notepad!" Paul complains from his spot on the couch, hunching over to shelter his intellectual property. "I'm having a breakthrough here!"
Sarah tackles Lisa and smears her paint-covered hands over the little girl's head, and I laugh so hard that my stomach hurts. So hard, in fact, that I fail to notice that Death has snuck up behind me. That is, until I feel cold, sticky paint soak into my back. I gasp, spinning around to find him there, brush outstretched.
"Oops," he says, his upturned lips carving dimples into his cheeks.
