Prettier with Short Hair

"First and foremost," Death said. "How was life at home when you were in high school?"

"Would you believe me," I uttered slowly, savoring each word as it left my mouth. "If I told you it got better?"

"That's surprising." Death's crimson eyes dilated in delight, clasping his hands together. "Did Granny have a change of heart?"

I shook my head.

"She had a change of health."

Death's mouth formed a small 'o'. He was silent for a few seconds, as if he were thinking very hard about what his next set of words would be.

"That's witty," he said, finally giving in to his inner demons if he had any. "Though that's a bit morbid of you."

I laughed, the staccato of each hitch echoing in the large expanse of the In-Between. My reaction seemed to have surprised Death.

"What?" I asked, feeling offended at Death's judgmental eyes. "The old woman hated me. Although I was serious when I said I didn't want to lose another family member, am I not allowed to reciprocate her feelings?"

"You are," Death said. "You're no longer the idiot or martyr I thought you were."

I bowed mockingly at him, and he clapped his hands along to my 'performance.'

"Anyway, due to Granma's deteriorating health, she was less active and had less strength to shout and throw stuff at me. She was still hostile towards me, of course."

"That'll never change." Death shook his head in disgust.

"There's a saying that says you can't teach an old dog new tricks." I nodded at him. "You can't magically expect her to finally love me or at least show me basic human empathy just because she's gotten old. I think it got worse over time."

"I can imagine that."

I smiled, shaking my head as I ran my hands on my short, sandy brown hair. When I finally looked at Death, I don't know if it was my imagination, but I accidentally caught him staring at me with his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"What?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you suddenly realize I'm one hell of a beauty?"

Hearing my words, Death rolled his eyes and looked away. Maybe it was because of his obscenely pale skin, but it was noticeable that his cheeks were a bit red.

"Anyway," he said, changing the topic. "What did you do while you were in high school? Did you study hard? Didn't? Joined extra-curricular? Didn't? Made friends?"

"Didn't?" I finished for him.

"You get my point."

"I do," I nodded. "To answer your question, I was still the same people-pleasing kid that I was back in middle school: I studied hard and got good grades, which consequently got me referred to join the student council."

"But?" Death asked, hearing the edge in my voice.

"There's a twist." I raised my brows suggestively at him.

"Oh?" He seemed intrigued.

"I was also a delinquent."

"Ha?" Death furrowed his eyebrows, trying to digest my words.

I don't blame him; I was already a walking paradox at that age.

"I got good grades, but no one dared to call me a nerd because I would beat the shit out of them if they attempted to even look at me the wrong way."

"Ha?" Death repeated in disbelief. "What the fuck? What happened to your timid personality growing up?"

"You said so yourself: I entered my rebel phase."

It seemed like the cogs in the machine of Death's mind suddenly started clicking together. "You took it literally."

"I took it literally," I confirmed. "The incident in the bathroom took a huge toll on me. I told myself I would never allow anyone to treat me like shit again."

"So you started inflicting the pain they did to you… to others?" Death asked confusedly.

"Not necessarily," I clarified. "I only beat up those who deserve it."

"When does a person deserve to be bullied?"

"You'll see."

"Okay," Death said in a tone that implied that he didn't necessarily believe me but was kind enough to entertain me.

Abruptly, the In-Between started shaking, signaling it was about to shift to another memory.

"I wonder what's next?" I whispered, absentmindedly.

After a few seconds, the vibration stopped, but we were still in darkness. I blinked, wondering if the In-Between had a glitch or something. Death tapped my shoulder, and I turned toward him, only to see a spotlight directed at the high school version of me.

'What a familiar but oddly different sight,' I thought.

As I expected, the high school me was holding a pair of scissors in my left hand and a strand of hair in my right. The sound of scissors snipping, which should have made the bare minimum of sounds, was heard all over the In-Between.

"You continued cutting your hair, I see." Death spoke.

I almost jumped out of my skin upon hearing Death's deep voice. I lost track of who was sitting next to me because I was so engrossed in the younger me cutting her hair and the addictive sound of the scissors.

Death frowned at my reaction.

"You're… addicted to cutting your hair."

Embarrassedly, I nodded.

"It was still a reflex of mine to cut it when I'm stressed out," I explained. "Besides that, I find cutting my hair and snipping scissors very therapeutic."

"Don't tell me," Death said dramatically. "By the time we reach your memories in your university years, you'd be sporting a buzz cut."

I scoffed, flipping my bob-cut-styled hair at him. Death laughed and looked impressed at my display of bravado, probably not used to the idea of a mere human acting so boldly in front of him. Sometimes, I forget that he was actually the Reaper of Souls and not just an odd cosplayer.

"This was my hair length back when I was still in university before I, well," I snickered. "You already know what I'm going to say."

Death nodded. "So we're close to the ending, huh."

I didn't say anything, realizing that this journey to my memories would end. It was odd how I was ready to burn myself alive, but I felt myself getting cold feet at the idea of going to The Other Side.

"You honestly look prettier with short hair."

I blinked, breaking from my reverie.

"What?"

Death started whistling.

"Nothing!"