Free The Sphere by Martha Faë

all, I’d slip in between the young couples on the street, interrupting their kisses without them even knowing I was there. Getting stuck in St Andrews when I died was never part of the plan, though of course I hadn’t planned on dying here and now, either... What am I thinking? I deserve a prize for the most ridiculous imagination. Even my mind won’t obey me. I can’t get a handle on it.
    The streets are completely deserted. Is it odd that there’s no one here? Maybe it’s too early for people to be out and about. I wish I had a watch. I head for the Quad to check the clock on St Salvator’s tower. I’m freezing. The chilly morning air is making my nose run, and I’m huddled over my crossed arms. I go into the Quad, the enclosed plaza where the first-years have their big shaving-cream fight. I know all about the tradition—lucky I don’t have to go through it now. Wait, why did I just think that? Everything is fine. I still have to figure out a way to get out of the tradition.
    The fog is resting heavily above the square formed by the ancient buildings. The dampness has painted eerie stains on the stone walls. I look up: the rounded peaks of the stone walls have always looked like meringues to me, but now they’re just big ink-spots, blurred by the fog. The grass in the center of the Quad is a grayish cushion. This place has never seemed so melancholy, but somehow I almost find it soothing.
    Then my blood goes cold and I stand stock-still. Something is moving beneath the arches of the St Salvator’s Chapel—a huge black wing. My feet are rooted to the spot. The shadow flits between the columns as I struggle to move my feet. I take a breath to scream, but then I see that it’s a small female figure. Her head is covered with a veil and her arms hidden inside a cape that flaps in the wind. Her footsteps are light and ethereal—she practically glides instead of walking. She vanishes into the church like a sigh.
    “Hey! Excuse me!” I shout, or try to.
    My voice is stuck in my throat. At least my feet are moving again.
    When I peek inside the chapel I see the woman sitting on one of the benches in the front. The scant light piercing the dense fog falls gently on the stained glass windows of St Salvator’s chapel. A single ray sneaks boldly through to land right on a pointed object sitting in the center of the altar. It’s large and elongated, a quill like people used to write with. The church is empty apart from the woman. A bell rings and a priest comes out. I pull my head back instinctively and stand very still, hidden under the arch. The seagulls screech furiously. I wonder if animals go to the same place as people when they die.
    I’M NOT DEAD!
    The defiant cry echoes in my head again. I go back out to the lawn to check the time on the clock tower... there’s no clock! The tower has lost its clock. Bewildered, I collapse onto the stone bench attached to the façade of the church and hang my head, feeling truly small and helpless. My toes turn in toward each other. I never should have gotten in the car with that jerk who pointed out my awkward feet, and I never should have trusted Axel. This is all his fault. I shouldn’t feel bad about leaving the party with Carl. I never would have done it if Axel hadn’t treated me the way he did.
    One droplet splashes onto a paving stone, then another. Tears come pouring down but I don’t try to stop them. I never cry, but today the Scottish summer rain falls lightly on the Quad and I just let my tears fall, let them soak my knees. I never cry. I’m not a crier. But now it feels like my tears are washing away time, and I’m glad. I can almost forget where I am, who I am. My fear is ebbing, and all this nonsense along with it.
    A hand lands on my shoulder and I jerk back.
    “Are you all right?” asks a silky voice.
    My eyes sweep upward, taking in a black cape and a very pale face framed by a lace veil. The eye sockets are empty, but the features are so perfect