I am the colour of the sunset. It leaks from my scalp and falls in droplets down my spine like rivulets of rain against the windows of my home. My head seeps orange, splattered against my skin. I run through the green fields and along the dusty trails with bare feet and soak up the sun, shining through the cracks in my body like the stars bleed light in the night sky. Old abandoned houses with traces of the past are my calling, picking up souvenirs from their rooms to take home with me. In the box under my bed are telescopes, broken mirrors, beads and hair clips. If I dared to show anybody else, they'd run to Mother and she'd fret, terrified of Peacekeepers slamming the doors open and dragging me off to my ill-fated doom with nothing but a box of remnants and an echo left to tell my story, and I can't be having that. I made my sister Paige cross her heart and hope to die she wouldn't tell them where I'd been. ("It's not stealing if they don't belong to anybody" I'd say, tracing the corners of my old leather box. "They need a home, too.") Terribly selfish, I'd like to wrap her up and place her in my box too, never to be in the company of anybody else but I. But she's too scared to come exploring with me, so I keep her at home and endeavour on my own conquest and come back home with artefacts for me and a story for her. Besides, she's best amongst the pages where she can't get hurt.
I am a ghost of the girl I once knew. But most importantly, I am alive.