Fine.

         I stumble back from the force of having pulled at my arm while trapped within the ghost girl. She stares at me with a different number of eyes every second, watching. Waiting. 

         “W-who are you?” 

         She shrugs. I do not know.

         “How?”

         Because I do not remember.

         Then we watch each other another moment longer. I lift my blankets to myself, my one arm still rightfully frozen and trembling. “Why not?”

         Time. She says, and her voice sounds sad echoing in my brain. Melancholy. Time works differently here.

         I pause, looking her over again. The translucent skin. The shifting face, never quite staying still. A camera with lagging shutter speed. 

         “You’re dead.” I try to phrase it as a question, but it doesn’t come up right. 

         Yes. She tells me. And you’re not supposed to be here.