My Mother's Crimson Data

I floated beside my corpse, watching that single crimson pinprick of light. A despair deeper than death itself settled over me.

Mom, if you had just taken one more step, if you had just touched my hand, you would have known I was as cold as stone.

But you would rather believe a machine than your own daughter. You wouldn't even take one more step to see if I was still breathing.

I could hear them talking in the living room.

"Oh, right, there's that sports tech summit tomorrow night…"

"Hailey, you were brilliant tonight. Several sponsors were very impressed…"

"Our family's reputation has never been stronger…"

They were celebrating.

While my body radiated the chill of death and the sweet, cloying smell of chemicals, they were celebrating the family's glory.

I floated back into my room and looked at my own body.

My skin had taken on a waxy, deathly pallor. My lips were purple, my eye sockets sunken.

The bracelet on my wrist kept flashing its useless red light, a final, futile protest from a corpse.

A faint odor began to emanate from my body.

It was the sign of rapid decay as the neurotoxin ravaged my lifeless body.

Soon, the smell would be stronger. Impossible to ignore.

I used to hate that smell.

But now, all I could do was float at the ceiling, smelling my own body rot.

"Go away," I tried to command the smell, but I had no voice.

The body was slowly decomposing, a dark fluid beginning to seep from it.

I no longer felt nauseous.

This wasn't so bad.

At least there was no more pain.

I whispered to the pathetic form below.

"Don't be afraid. You can't feel anything anymore. It will all be over soon."

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, illuminating my already stiffened corpse.

The sound of sizzling came from the kitchen.

The rich aroma of lobster pasta, my absolute favorite, snaked through the central air and filled the house.

Mom only had the chef make it when there were important guests.

"Good," Isolde said, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she drank coffee in the living room. "Let's see if this aroma can lure that little coward out of her hole."

She was doing it on purpose.

She wanted to use my favorite food to tempt me out, to make me apologize.

I floated at the ceiling, looking down at my body.

My skin now had a greenish tint, my eye sockets were deep pits, and dried black blood was caked at the corners of my mouth.

If I were alive, that aroma would surely have sent me knocking on the door, begging for forgiveness.

But I was dead.

The dead are not tempted by food.

My sister Hailey’s voice suddenly sliced through the air, dripping with faux drama. "Ugh, what is that disgusting smell? It's coming from Wren's room!"

She pinched her nose, her face contorted in a grimace.

"Did she spill her sports drinks in there again? Make a mess?"

Mom put down her coffee cup, her face instantly darkening.

"What smell?"

"It's horrible! Like… like something's rotting!" Hailey gagged theatrically. "I almost threw up just walking past her door!"

Yes. Something was rotting.

It was me.