The Astonishing Color of After

by Emily X.R. Pan

When I close my eyes, willing my body to relax… I can’t shut off my mind. Images rewind, replay, again and again. I think of that red and feathered creature sailing across the sky. The box of things that my grandparents said they’d burned. That gray body, arranged in the casket like a doll. And what about the box of incense? I’d never seen incense sticks so black. I hear them again: the whispery voices, words I can’t decipher. The shushing of syllables that slide up against each other. Cold light puddles in the wide crack between the bottom of my door and the linoleum. It seeps in from the window behind the thin curtain, washing the walls in spectral beams. At first I think it’s the moon snaking down the alley, and then I realize it’s the streetlamps. My eyes settle; the darkness lifts. There’s just enough glow to see by. My bare feet slide out of the low bed to find the floor, carrying me to the dresser. I guess I was expecting the whispers to grow louder, but they abruptly halt the moment I touch the handle. I pull at the drawer slowly, quietly. This is a small apartment with thin walls; sound travels. There’s the feather. There’s the incense. And this time, there’s also an old-looking book of matches. Where did these come from? A shiver traces the curve of my spine. I can’t help checking over my shoulder. The light outside the window flickers and dims, as if answering a question I didn’t know I was asking. I’m convinced they’re from the bird—the feather is like a signat...