After about an hour of walking, I was finally back home. And, much to my dismay, being dead does not magically make you in shape. I was huffing and puffing by the time I willed myself through the front door, my hand wiping imaginary sweat from my brow. My mind went back to a fact I had learned in school, which stated that if your body could not sweat, you would overheat and die. I guess it was a good thing I was already dead.

I walked into the living room and was surprised to find it empty. If there was one room in the Grimm house that was never empty, it was the living room. Except for maybe during the wee hours of the night, there was always somebody watching TV, or relaxing on the loveseat, or knitting (well, that's just Granny). But regardless of who was doing what, there was always somebody in the living room.

I sat down on the couch, marvelling at the irony that I, a dead girl, was the only person in the living room. I get that I might sound a little strange at how much emphasis I've put on this dumb living room, but what you must understand that an empty living room means something bad has happened. I rolled my eyes at myself. Obviously something bad has happened. Of all people, I should've known that.

I sat on the couch for a few more minutes before quickly becoming bored. I thought of turning the TV on, despite the fact that it might confuse the family, but the idea was futile anyways due to the fact I couldn't even hold a remote. I stood up from the couch, noticing with strange fascination that my butt hadn't even left a butt print in the plush seat. I meandered through the ground floor of the house, looking for somebody, anybody, really.

Once I realized that downstairs was completely devoid of life, I decided to head up to my room. My door was open, so I didn't have to "magic" myself inside. I walked in but then stopped when I realized I wasn't alone.

Puck was standing forlornly in the middle of my room, staring at a picture on my wall. I half-expected him to suddenly notice me and hurry embarrassedly from the room, but of course, it didn't happen. The whole "invisible" thing would take some getting used to.

I contemplated leaving, but my stubbornness (and curiosity) got the better of me. This was my room, after all. Dead or not, it still belonged to me.

I walked slowly over to where Puck was standing, watching his face for any sign of acknowledgement towards my presence. When nothing came, I sighed and turned my head to look at the picture he was staring at. It was a picture of me and Daphne from last Fourth of July. Our smiles were wide as we held up our sparklers in our lame matching flag shirts Granny had bought for us. It wasn't the best picture (not many pictures taken at night end up the best, really) but I loved it anyways.

Suddenly overcome with sadness, I left the room hastily. I stood in the hallway, my knuckles white as I clenched my fists. There would be no more Fourth of July parties for me. There would be no more holding up sparklers. There would be no more pictures with Daphne. I would never experience life ever again.

As my anger swelled, I hardly noticed Puck leave my room and head towards his. But his heavy footfalls distracted me from my anger for the time being, so I decided to follow him. In the room at the hospital, I could've sworn Puck noticed me. Well, maybe not me, but my presence, somewhat. I was determined to make him notice me again.

Thankfully, I managed to slip into his room before he shut the door. The whole "going through doors" thing freaked me out a bit, admittedly. I followed Puck to his trampoline, which was still there even after all it's years of use. We bought him a real bed a while back, but he had always preferred his old, gross trampoline.

Puck climbed on to the trampoline and sat in the center, staring at his hands. I watched silently, expecting him to burst into tears or something. But no. He just stared at his hands. I found myself becoming agitated. Stupid jerk wouldn't even cry over me.

"HEY, ASSHOLE," I shouted. I waited, seeing if he would look up in my direction. His head didn't move one bit.

"DOGFACE, CAN YOU HEAR ME? LOOK UP IF YOU CAN HEAR ME!" I tried again, louder this time. Still nothing.

I decided I needed to be closer. I climbed gingerly on to the trampoline, once again in awe at how my body left no indents. I tried jumping, to see if I bounced, but the trampoline stayed motionless where I landed.

I went over to where Puck was sitting and sat down in front of him, our faces no more than 6 inches apart. Normally, I would've felt very, very awkward, but it's not like he could see me. I stared at a rather large pimple on the side of his nose as I thought of what to do next. Finally, I decided just good old-fashioned screaming would do the trick.

I leaned in until my mouth was directly next to his ear. I took a deep breath before letting out a very loud and very shrill shriek, straight into his ear canal.

If I still had a heart, it would've pounded out of my chest as Puck turned his head towards mine. He was looking straight at me. Well, through me, but still in my direction. His eyes darted around; he was confused. Obviously, my scream hadn't been very loud in his ear, but he had still heard something.

So he was somewhat acknowledging my presence. I decided to try and see if he could possibly understand me. I mean, after all, he had said the thing about cremations.

His head was still turned in my direction, so I leaned my head to the side of his head that wasn't facing me.

"CAN YOU HEAR ME?" I shouted into his ear. His head remained still and unmoving.

"PUCK? IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, RAISE YOUR HAND," I shouted again. Still nothing.

I decided to try the screaming-at-the-top-of-my-lungs approach again. I put my mouth next to his ear and let out a blood-curdling shriek. I watched hopefully, sure that it would work. But nothing happened.

Dejectedly, I got off the trampoline and made the decision to go back to my room. He had heard something. But it wasn't like he knew I was there. I was still just a lone entity.

On my way back to my room, I heard commotion from downstairs. I passed my room and jogged down the stairs, both curious and alarmed.

I entered the kitchen and found Granny seated at the counter and Uncle Jake standing with his arms crossed a few feet away. At first, I thought the yelling I heard was a fight happening between Jake and Granny. But then I noticed the phone in Granny's hand.

"Our baby girl, Mom. Our baby girl is dead! How could you let this happen?" came the easily recognizable (and angry) voice of no other than Henry Grimm. My dad.

"I didn't know she was there, Henry. How could I have known?" Granny replied through tears, her hand clutching her chest. Jake stood silently.

"That was my daughter you ran over today. My daughter! You killed my daughter!" my dad yelled through the phone's speaker. "It hasn't even registered to Veronica yet. She's just sitting in the bedroom watching TV. I don't think you understand, Mom. Try to imagine sitting at work and then receiving a call out of nowhere claiming your daughter is dead? At the hands of my own mother?"

Jake took a step forward. "Henry, Mom didn't murder Sabrina. It was an accident. So quit being a bastard, because right now, we need to stick together!" he said angrily.

"To hell with you, Jake. I'm sure you just sit by and let my daughter die!"

"NOBODY LET YOUR DAUGHTER DIE. SHE DIED ACCIDENTALLY," roared Jake.

I waited for my father's response, but an audible click signaled he had hung up. Granny was sobbing into her hands.

I ran from the kitchen, unable to watch any longer. I knew my dad didn't really think Granny had murdered me. I knew he was just angry that he couldn't stop it. The truth of the whole situation hadn't completely dawned on anybody yet. Everyone was still in shock.

I ran all the way to my room, my body colliding into the door. I wasn't hurt; I didn't actually feel the collision, but I was surprised. Somebody had shut the door. I willed myself through the door, relieved to see that nobody was inside.

I laid down on my bed, wishing I could feel the soft pillows smushed against my cheek and the fuzzy blanket underneath me. But my bed remained physically undisturbed. I looked around my room, adorned with pictures and memorabilia I'd collected throughout my 16 years. None of it mattered anymore. The NYU pennant I'd gotten from my school's job fair after realizing it was my dream college. The collection of seashells I'd been slowly gathering from various beach trips. The calendar tacked on the wall with all the various activities I would've attended.

I would never go to New York University. I would never collect another seashell again. I would never be able to attend any of the events on my calendar. I didn't have a future anymore.

I sat up, pressing my fingers to my temples. My mind was so confused and jumbled. "What is happening to me?" I shouted. "Why am I still here?"

Nobody responded to me, but that was expected. I looked at the clock on my wall. 12:15 at night. Gee, time flies when you're dead.

I laid back down on my bed and closed my eyes. I laid there for a good 30 minutes, waiting for sleep to overcome me. With a groan, I opened my eyes. Dead people can't sleep? Was this some kind of cruel joke, Universe? What else can't I do? I thought about it hard. I didn't have to eat (not like I could pick up food anyways). I didn't have to use the bathroom. I didn't have to shower or brush my teeth. Every basic human function was now pointless and impossible to me.

I never realized death would be this boring.

Hmm, not sure how I feel about this chapter. But I couldn't put off posting it much longer, so here it is! Just keep in mind that I'm still developing the plot, so bear with me. The chapters will get longer!

Tell me what you think! I love hearing your opinions!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!