Pretensions of a ghost

"Britney, wake up," I whispered to her urgently, almost crying, as I rapidly shook my sister's shoulder in the dim glooming. Except for the tar of despair sticking to my skin, I could still feel the dark and cold, like a bad omen which never intended to say goodbye.

Britney groaned audibly, opened her racing eyes, and sat up on the old yet croaking chair in our cramped safe place. "Cam, the day is nearing its end. Are you kidding me?" she retorted, half-awake, ...