Red Means Pain

I woke up floating above my own body. My mother walked in, smelled the rot, screamed at me to stop sulking, then locked the door again. My father almost saved me—then his boss called. My sister stuck out her tongue, her green light glowing soft. I watched them go to a funeral that wasn't mine yet, while the red light on my dead ear kept blinking. They only believed what they could see. They never touched me. If she had just touched my paw, she would have known I was already cold.

I woke up floating above my own body. My mother walked in, smelled the rot, screamed at me to stop sulking, then locked the door again. My father almost saved me—then his boss called. My sister stuck out her tongue, her green light glowing soft. I watched them go to a funeral that wasn't mine yet, while the red light on my dead ear kept blinking. They only believed what they could see. They never touched me. If she had just touched my paw, she would have known I was already cold.