lost |

                                    

                                          


                          
"How is this possible?" I mumbled to myself but Angel still heard me. It just doesn't make sense.
                          


                          
"We leave our old shells behind when we die," she explained as she sat across from me at the table, using a fork to comb her hair with streaks orange at the tips.
                          


                          
"Why?"
                          


                          
"So that our loved ones could have a body to hold for a little while longer."
                          


                          
"But that body soon turns to ashes, anyway."
                          


                          
"That's because the given time is up and they get transported back here," she started picking on her nail, biting on it like a child. "Since it takes time before the body arrives, the souls take on a different shell when they get here," she pursed her lips as she stared at her fingers, "this isn't even my old shell. My hands were smaller, my hair was shorter," she peeked under her shirt, "I didn't have these things, too."
                          


                          
"Angel?"
                          


                          
"Oh and my cheeks were chubby, too, this shell's cheeks are not," she kept mumbling, puffing her cheeks out, not paying attention to me, "I miss my chubby cheeks and chubby fingers."
                          


                          
"Angel," I repeated twice or even thrice before she responded.
                          


                          
"Oh, right, you're calling me that," she mumbled, probably forgetting that it's the name she let me call her.
                          


                          
"How did you die?"