I'm writing a new book called Through the Veil. Here is an excerpt
Violet
rolled her eyes and tapped Shri’s shoulder. ‘I will escort you to a boutique’
she informed, shooting the two younger children an unimpressed look. ‘If you
two wish to accompany her as well,’ she said, raising her voice slightly ‘then
it would do you well to cease your quarrel.’ Ali and Anne abruptly stopped
shouting and turned to Violet repentantly. ‘Sorry, Vi’ they both chorused. Shri
stared at Violet, slightly intimidated. She didn’t know what it was about the
older girl that made her so nervous. Perhaps it was her overly- formal tone
that sounded afraid of messing up. Perhaps it was her scars, only one on her
face, but many scattered all over arms. She didn’t seem self-conscious, wearing
them almost proudly, like a badge of honour. Perhaps it was the way she held
herself, with confidence, but tensed up in the way she had seen in her uncle
who had fought in the war, tense, was if waiting to be attacked at any moment.
She had the same eyes, wary, alert, ready to lash out at any sign of danger.
Whatever it was, she felt wary of the dark-haired girl who seemed to be an
intimate friend to sadness.
Violet turned and strode off, in the direction Shri and Ali
had come from. Shri scrambled to catch up to her, feeling that she was always a
step behind in this strange world. By now she had pieced together most of the
details of what had happened to her. She probably wasn’t dead, judging by Ali’s
vehement denial of that fact. Maybe she was in a sort of in between place. ‘Coma’
her mind whispered to her. Yes, that was probably it. It was almost scary how
quickly the answer came to her. She had never been afraid of death, unlike many
of her friends. She had had an eerie fascination with it as a young child that
made her relatives look at her sideways and whisper about her behind their
hands. She had been able to see death, hovering over sick people’s heads and
swarming hospitals. Sometimes when there were too many, the sad aura around
them would overwhelm her, and she would dissolve into tears. She had stopped
telling people about it when she was roughly 4 years old. She, her parents,
siblings, uncles, aunts and cousins had all gone to see her great-uncle who was
sick. She had seen Death sitting on the side of his bed, swinging his legs and
looking down at her curiously. She had announced to the whole room that he was
going to die soon. His adult son who was sitting beside the frail old man had
promptly burst into tears and begged his father not to leave him. Shri’s mother
had taken her out of the room and slapped her, inquiring what the hell he
thought she was doing. ‘You can’t just tell people they’re going to die, Shrinandhini’
she snapped. That was when she had stopped mentioning the spectres she saw
everywhere. Eventually, she learned to tune them and she stopped getting
overwhelmed. At some point she tuned them out so well, she forgot about them
and only saw flashes of translucent blue and a faint gloom in the air.
