Standing there in front of the statue, I couldn’t help but glare at it. A master craftsman had probably sculpted it, declaring it his life’s work. Praises rang often when other monks visited, but all I felt, all I could feel, was irritation. Tall. Blinding. Towering over me, its perfectly symmetrical smile seemed to be mocking me. The gold-plated statue of a Buddha.

I had been shot. Pressing down on the wound in my abdomen did little to stop the warm trail of blood sliding down my legs. What a shame, the wooden floorboards would no doubt get stained after this.

The smell of incense invaded my nose, the same way the flashing red and blue lights invaded through the shuttered windows. Sirens were still blaring and occasional shouts could be heard surrounding this secluded temple. A familiar voice echoed through the walls with the help of a loudspeaker.

“You are surrounded! Come out with your hands up!” It was the detective that had been investigating me for the past few weeks.

He asked me a bunch of questions the first time I met him. What my name was. Where my parents were, and why I was here. I answered to the best of my ability, but not once did he write down my answers. He just stared at me. With that scarred left eye of his.

In this lonesome place on the outskirts of the bustling concrete city. Instead of tall glass skyscrapers that pierced the clouds and rows with cracked brick houses, where you could smell the torn up plastic bags of trash littering the streets, nature surrounded the temple instead. Trees with actual leaves. Green grass. Air that didn’t smell sour. Having nowhere else to go, I eventually found myself standing before this very place.

A monk sweeping the grounds greeted me, introduced himself and then broke out into a long winded lesson regaling the history of the temple. Did I ask for this service? No. Did I ask him to stop? Of course not, what was the point? This happened more often than I would admit, someone finding me and blathering on and on about this or that.

He looked increasingly more cheerful the more he talked, hitting all the bullet points. I must have been the only person that listened to his whole presentation.

Having learnt all the ins and outs of the temple, the monk invited me in to have a meal after taking a look at the dipping sky. With nothing but the shirt on my back, I accepted. Stuffing my face with food for the first time in a while, my body wanted to fall into a coma. Noticing this, the monk offered me a room to use.

The room was intended for monks-in-training, yet since no one had shed their modern life in recent years, it lay unoccupied. A mattress on a low bed-frame and a nightstand beside it. That was it. I accepted the bare room.

Finding it surprising that a new face had popped up overnight, the residing monks began chatting with me immediately. Debates shot back and forth with me in the middle. I expected them to be a little disappointed when I finally told them that I wasn’t a new monk trainee, and that I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but they all smiled gently at me instead.

There were two things stopping me from becoming a real trainee. One, the five precepts that made the base of the religion. The other reason being this room my body was bleeding out in. The room with the big Buddha. It repulsed me whenever I got near, like a cat to water.

Strangely enough, as if a barrier had been lifted, I had no problems entering earlier today. My bloody footprints painted a visible path across the wide floor.

I gazed at the blood-stained knife in my hand. Which way to die would be less painful? To stab myself in the neck, or get shot again by those standing over there? I tried to move my arms but they had already died. Fortunately, my ears still worked as heavy footsteps came closer and closer behind the wooden doors.

“Death is not the end, nor is life the start. We will all suffer while under the wheel of reincarnation,” a monk said to me one day. I didn’t really want to die but the thought of reincarnating did fill me with a sense of hope. Maybe I could be a cat in my next life? Laying down and sleeping wherever and whenever.

My consciousness flickered in and out as I thought about other animals. There were too many to choose from, really. I was tired. I wanted to rest. I was cold. And finally, I bled out.

The statue was still smiling smugly all the while.

Two men entered the room where the girl still had her eyes open.

“Detective, is this really her? The one making waves in the headlines lately?” The officer had to ask after seeing the dead body. He had a daughter about her age and all she did was chat with her friends about boys and idols, and stay up all night.

The detective clicked his tongue. “Don’t let her appearance fool you, we already have three confirmed bodies.”

“You really can’t judge a book by its cover, huh?” The officer snapped a picture. “She must have been possessed or something, just look at this place. Gives me the creeps, I tell you.”

“Take your pictures, and give me that report. The public and higher ups have been on my ass ever since that incident.” He gave the girl he shot a last look over.

Draping a sheet of cloth over the girl, the officer wrote down a line in his report. “Good riddance.”

***

His hands lit up as he injected the girl with divine magic. It didn’t work.

“Father!” The woman looked distraught. “My daughter, she will open up her eyes again won’t she? She must only be sleeping, right?” Having looked over this child from late morning to late night, he could only come to one conclusion. Her daughter wouldn’t be able to do what she wished for.

“I’m sorry, but there is nothing more I can do…” Divine magic was supposed to heal all except a few cases. Those cases being where the mind was involved or the patient was terminally ill. This child was the latter case. “She doesn't have long…”

It was never easy telling a parent about the fate of their child. More so when the mother wailed like a banshee holding unto her dying daughter’s body. Blood-curdling and soul-rending, no wonder his mentor said that crying at funerals made it harder for the souls to pass peacefully. Even he froze at her cries.

“We should start the ritual.” It would ensure a safe passage for the poor child’s soul on its way to the Goddess.

“No!” She hissed at him. “I won’t do it! She’s not dead!” And started to shield her body against him. Even if didn’t wish so, the look in her eyes was a familiar sight. Anger, hate, and distress. The priest stood there taking the brunt of the woman’s emotions.

And a second later, the mother released her daughter’s body and leapt forward to grab at the priest’s garment. The white fabric stretched wide at her pleading hands. “You used divine magic didn’t you? Why isn’t it doing anything?!” He stayed silent at her screams.

But it was strange. Even if divine magic would have no effect, some of the mana would nevertheless seep into the body. Each time he tried to inject her with mana, it simply bounced off. He thought for a moment and blinked. Of course, she was already dead.

“Oh my baby, please open your eyes. What am I supposed to do without you!”

The myriad plants and medicines sprawled all over the room filling it with herbal notes, told a pitiful story about the child’s long struggle against her body. Getting exhausted from merely taking a walk to town, getting a fever for forgetting to close the window, and not being able to stomach half of what she ate. This unknown disease was like a curse, but the priest found no such marks, much to the dismay of the mother.

At least she looked to be at peace laying there on the bed. A sharp contrast to the haggard looking mother shaking her daughter’s body with her trembling cries.

Her golden blonde hair laid to her sides. Her mother had combed it earlier, making it straight like strings of a harp. Apart from her hair, she also inherited her rare purple eyes. The pair of them reflected the warm glow of the magic lamp as they stared at her mother with confusion. They could almost be mistaken for being sisters if you weren’t privy to their ages. Wait a minute. Staring?

“What am I to tell your father!” Her tears fell on the girl’s cheek, leaving a wet trail as it plopped further down to the pillow below. The child’s eyes twitched.

“What…” And she spoke.

Flinching from the unexpected sound, the mother’s tears stopped immediately in their tracks like a frozen faucet. But how was it possible that she moved again? She was unmistakeably dead. Right?

“Oh my Goddess!” She let out a yell full of joy. “Esther!”

It was a miracle. The priest had never witnessed one in front of his eyes before, but he understood. “This must be a miracle…”

He had to document this. Rummaging through his bags to find something to write down this act of the divine, and while the mother hugged her revived daughter shedding tears of joy. The words from the little girl stopped the two of them from moving.

“Who are you?” A hoarse voice called out.

***

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes again was a crying woman. An angel? Her appearance seemed to fit the description with her over the top blonde hair and ridiculous purple eyes. Not only that, that man over there wearing a white priest costume held what must have been a list of my deeds. Haa… I just wanted to rest, I’d rather be actually dead than hearing more of her wails ringing in my ears. It was irritating.

The second thing I saw was my body. Glancing downwards the view shocked me. This wasn’t my body at all. When I thought of moving my hand, a small childlike hand moved accordingly instead. Hair in the shade of that woman filled the sides of my vision and my chest had gotten a bit smaller…

A dream. It didn’t make sense for me to be in heaven anyway. But my aching body hurt too much for me to actually believe that. Every muscle in ‘my’ body writhed and every nerve felt like burning as I laid there in bed. The pain was even worse than being shot.

“Who are you?” Wow, even my voice was different.

I passed out shortly after and morning came with a bowl of porridge in my hands. The warmth from it seeped through my fingers, heating up my body a little. Its grayish color didn’t exactly whet my appetite, however the smiling stare from that annoying woman ordered me to try a taste.

“One shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,” I remembered hearing someone say. And they were right. A subtle sweetness enveloped my tongue as the runny porridge spread throughout my mouth and down my sore throat.

The woman looked at me with crescent moon shaped eyes. “How is it?”

Everything about her made me infuriated. A clear voice, a gentle smile, an appearance that could only be seen on television. And the best of it all, this angel-like woman was supposedly my mother.

I opened my mouth. “It’s good.” And a childlike voice rang out. “What is this?”

“I’m glad”, she said with a big smile. “It’s oat porridge, I used to make it whenever you would get sick.”

According to this woman, Victoria, my name was Esther, thirteen years old. The priest said that it was a miracle that I opened my eyes again. A person that rejected divine magic was a sure sign of death after all. Whatever that meant.

Divine magic. Magic. All of it sounded stupid. I wasn’t some little girl, nor did I have such a lovingly sick mother. I was shot and I died. The end. I didn’t even have the energy to glare at that woman’s gleeful expression holding the empty bowl of porridge as I passed out again.

A day has passed since I took over Esther’s body. My body still hurts all over, but speaking has become less of a strain. Resulting in me passing the time by asking a bunch of questions to the now tear-free Victoria.

This country was called the Guillain Kingdom and it was currently the year 563 of the common calendar. We lived in some town ruled by some a noble with the rank of baron whose name I couldn’t remember. This was totally different from the Earth I knew.

“A planet? Is it some kind of plant?” She was sitting on a chair by my bedside.

“It’s not a plant, I think. I just remembered the word,” I said.

Her eyes were filled with hope. “Really? Do you remember anything else?”

I averted my eyes. “No, sorry.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to be sorry about sweetie, let's just take it slow.” She put her hand onto my head and began patting me. It felt weird.

“Can I ask another question?”

“Of course!” She pumped her fists and cheered me on in an overly cute manner.

“Do I have a father?”

“Oh…” Like a wilted flower, she hung her head. It was kind of amazing how fast she flipped between her emotions.

“He is currently out hunting monsters.”

Well that was shocking. “Hunting monsters? That sounds dangerous.” I imagined monsters like big snakes and dragons and… I didn’t know any more monsters.

“They can be…” She looked out the window. “But don’t you worry a bit my little pumpkin, your father is stronger than he looks! Why do you think I married him?”

She began singing his praises. I could tell from the way she spoke that they were happily married. I searched through my memories for something involving my own father but quickly stopped. It was a stupid idea anyway.

“Do you think he will be glad to see me?” I asked.

“Why do you say that?” Her concerned face came a bit closer as she held my hands.

“I don’t remember him at all.” She squeezed my hands and something warm wrapped around me. She had pulled me into a hug.

“It doesn’t matter if you remember us or not, just know that we will love you all the same. There is always time for new memories, and who knows? Maybe your memories will come back after a good night’s sleep? You can see your father tomorrow too.”

I could feel the warmth in her words as she swaddled me. It warmed up my body and even managed to reach my heart. I hated it. I stared into her brilliant purple eyes. I really hated it.