Banished Divinity: Learning to be Human

I went back upstairs. But I didn't go to my room.

I knocked on Mina's door.

"WHAT," came the muffled response. It wasn't a question. It was a warning.

"It's me."

"I KNOW IT'S YOU. YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOCKS LIKE A CONFUSED WOODPECKER HAVING A PERSONAL CRISIS."

"Can I come in?"

A pause. Then: "Fine. But if you cry on my sketches, I'm throwing you out the window. We're on the second floor. It won't kill you like last time. But it'll hurt. And I'll feel better."

"She's so dramatic," Human Sera whispered, floating beside me. "I love her. She's been like that since birth, I swear. The nurses said she came out screaming and didn't stop for three days. She's been yelling at the universe ever since. Can I come in too?"

"You're already in. You're a ghost. Walls aren't real to you."

"Right. Forgot. Perks."

I opened the door. Mina was at her desk, surrounded by papers, her tablet glowing in the dim light like a tiny, judgmental sun. She looked up at me with narrowed eyes.

"You look terrible," she said. "Like a cabbage that's been left in the rain. A sad, wet cabbage."

"Thanks."

"Your face is all blotchy. Were you crying?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Emotionally overwhelmed. There's a difference. Crying is wet. Overwhelmed is dry but also sad. It's a spectrum."

"She's not wrong about the cabbage thing," Human Sera observed, examining my face from three inches away. "You do look a bit like produce. Lovely produce. But produce. Also, your pajamas are inside out. Just so you know."

I looked down. My pajama shirt was, in fact, inside out.

"Told you."

Mina snorted. She pushed a chair toward me with her foot. "Sit down before you fall down. You have the emotional stability of a wet napkin. A used wet napkin. From a dumpster."

I sat. I didn't say anything. I just sat there, staring at the wall, thinking about Dad crying. Thinking about the photograph. Thinking about Human Sera, who was currently floating near the ceiling trying to make shadow puppets with her translucent hands.

"It's a bunny," she said, holding up her hands. "Can you see it? No, wait, it's a duck. Or maybe a very confused duck. Art is subjective. Oh! Oh!! Do you think I should try moving Mina's cup? That would be such an epic reaction from her. Okay, going to practice now. If I succeed, remember to take a picture, and we can use that to bribe her for like, eternity."

Human Sera now floated beside Mina's table, letting out an evil, loud laugh. She looked like some kind of warlord who had just discovered a special power she was about to unleash. It was awful to look at her, and yet the idea was entertaining.

Mina watched me for a long moment.

Then she sighed. A long, loud, put-upon sigh that could have powered a small city for approximately four seconds.

"Okay," she said, putting down her pencil. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Something happened. Your face is doing that thing where it looks like a sad cabbage. The sad cabbage face. It's your brand. It's the only brand you have, besides 'confused woodpecker' and 'person who befriended a worm.'"

"She called me a worm once," Human Sera said, floating down to sit cross-legged on Mina's desk. "I was wearing a green sweater. She said I looked like 'a worm in a sweater.' I cried. She felt bad and bought me ice cream. It was a whole thing."

I looked at Mina. At her tired eyes, her messy hair, the pencil smudge on her cheek. At the drawings on her wall—some of them silly, some of them beautiful, all of them her.

“A Celestial Being do not do sadness. Its very undignified. But if you must know, Dad was crying," I said. "Downstairs. Holding a picture of me. The old me. The baby me."

Mina's expression didn't change. But her hand stopped moving. The pencil hovered above the paper, frozen in mid-air like a tiny wooden ghost.

"Oh," she said quietly. Not sarcastic. Not sharp. Just... oh.

"She cares," Human Sera said softly, floating down to sit on Mina's shoulder—passing right through her, because ghost. "Look at her. She's trying so hard not to show it. But she cares. She always did. She used to hold my hand during thunderstorms. Said it was because she 'didn't want me to break anything.' But I knew. She was scared too. She just didn't want to be scared alone."

"He said he misses me," I continued. "Even if I don't have my memories back. He misses her. The one who's gone."

Human Sera looked at me, her eyes soft. "He misses me," she said. "And I miss him too. But I'm not gone gone. I'm right here. Just... different. Like you said. Different shape. Same heart. Same terrible taste in music."

Mina put down her pencil. She leaned back in her chair. She stared at the ceiling like it owed her money. "Yeah," she said. "That sounds like Dad. He's a crier. Always has been. Cried at my first piano recital. Cried when I got into art school. Cried when he stubbed his toe last Tuesday. The man has feelings. It's disgusting."

"I thought they didn't care about memories anymore. Mum said—"

"Mum says a lot of things." Mina's voice was soft now. Not soft like a pillow. Soft like glass that might break. "She says she doesn't care about memories because it's easier than admitting she thinks about your previous self every single day. Every. Single. Day. Dad says he has summer allergies because it's easier than crying in front of us. And I—" She stopped. She bit her lip so hard I thought she might draw blood.

"You what?"

"I draw you sometimes." Mina's voice was barely a whisper. A secret. "In my sketchbook. The one I don't show anyone. The one under my bed. I draw you the way I remember her. Smiling. Annoying. Alive. And then I cry about it, because I'm also a crier, and it's a family disease."

"She draws me?" Human Sera floated closer, her eyes wide. Her translucent hands pressed against her ghostly chest. "She draws me? Under the bed? Oh. Oh, that's... that's the sweetest thing I've ever heard. I'm going to cry. I can't cry, but emotionally, I am sobbing. Beautifully. Like a weeping angel. Tell her I said thank you. Tell her I would love to see them. The drawings. Even from wherever I am. Tell her I love them. Tell her I love her. Tell her—"

"She can't hear you," I muttered.

"Oh. Right. Forgot. Well, tell her anyway. In your own words. But make it sound nice. Not weird. You're bad at nice."

I looked at Mina. At her tired eyes, her messy hair, the way her hands trembled slightly. At the sister who had lost someone and was trying so hard not to lose anyone else.

"She would have loved that," I said quietly. "The drawings. She would have loved them. And she would have loved you. For remembering her."

Mina's eyes glistened. She looked away quickly. "Whatever," she said, but her voice cracked. "She was annoying. And she had terrible taste in movies. And she always stole my socks."

"I did steal her socks," Human Sera said, nodding proudly. "They were softer than mine. I regret nothing."

"But she was my sister," Mina finished. "And I miss her too. Even if I don't say it. Even if I say it with sarcasm and eye twitches and drawings hidden under my bed."

I didn't know what to say. So, I didn't say anything. I just sat there, being a sad cabbage.

Human Sera floated over and sat on my shoulder, her weight nothing at all. "Tell her I said thank you," she whispered. "Tell her I'm glad she's your sister. Tell her I'm glad you're all together. Tell her I'm proud of her. For being strong. For being here. For not falling apart even when everything fell apart."

Mina looked at me. Her eyes were bright—not with tears, exactly, but with something close. Something that shimmered at the edges like heat off pavement.

"Don't tell anyone I told you that," she said.

"I won't."

"Especially not Mum. She'll make it weird. She'll frame it. She'll put it on the wall next to the B." Mina rolled her eyes.

"I understand, Everything Mum touches becomes weird. It's her superpower. Right after 'finding lost socks' and 'making you feel guilty about breathing too loud.'"

Mina snorted. Then she laughed. Then she threw a pencil at my head. It bounced off my forehead and landed on the floor. "Thanks for checking on me, weirdo," she said. "Even though you're the one who looks like a sad cabbage and cries in hallways and eavesdrops on our parents."

"I'm not a sad cabbage. I didn’t ease drop. I was announcing my presence. That was a difference."

"Ah ha! Yah right, I could hear you stomping away from my door thinking you were quiet earlier one. Like everyone in this family, you are terrible at being discreet. And, You're my sad cabbage. There's a difference. A very important difference. It's called ownership."

"Ownership," Human Sera repeated, giggling. "I'm using that. 'You're my dead sister. There's a difference.' Very dramatic. Very Mina. She's always been like that. The drama queen of the family. I was the cute one. She was the dramatic one. Mum was the loud one. Dad was the crybaby. We had a whole system."

She stood up. She walked over to me. And then—very quickly, very awkwardly, like she was performing a secret handshake she'd only practiced once in the mirror—she hugged me.

It lasted exactly two seconds.

Then she pushed me away so hard I nearly fell off the chair and pointed at the door like a general ordering a retreat. "Okay. Emotional moment over. Get out. I have work to do, and if I don't finish this chapter by morning, my editor will actually murder me. And then she'll mail my body to my publisher. In pieces."

"Editors can't murder people."

"This one can. She's terrifying. She has a spreadsheet and a red pen. I've seen her use both. I've bled from both."

Such terrible and yet admirable superpower, I must see it one day if possible and learn that art of combat from this editor. I noted it down in my Human supernatural observation # 23.

I stood up. I walked to the door.

"Mina?"

"What?"

"Thank you. For... for being my sister. Even when you're terrible at it."

She rolled her eyes so hard I was worried they might get stuck that way. "I didn't choose to be your sister. The universe chose for me. I'm a victim of cosmic circumstances. I'm filing a complaint with management as soon as I find out who 'management' is."

"Tell her I said thank you too," Human Sera said from my shoulder. "Tell her I'm glad she's your sister. Tell her I'm glad you're all together. Tell her—"

"You can tell her yourself," I muttered under my breath. "You're right there."

"She can't hear me, remember?"

"Oh. Right."

Mina squinted at me. "Are you talking to yourself again?"

"No."

"Yes, you are. You're doing the thing where your lips move and no one's there. It's creepy. Like, horror-movie creepy. Like, 'the ghost is in the room' creepy."

"She's not wrong," Human Sera giggled.

"Shut up, both of you," I said.

Mina raised an eyebrow. "I only said one thing."

"Exactly. Shut up."

I walked out before she could throw another pencil.

Yes. I thank them for that. Even though I'm banished. Even though I lost everything. I got this. And this is enough.

"It is," Human Sera said softly, floating beside me down the hallway. "It really is. You're doing good, current me. You're doing really good. Better than I ever did, honestly. I never got an A. I got a C once and Mum still framed it. Said it was 'abstract.' I don't think she knows what abstract means."

"Still," I whispered to Mina's closed door. "Thank you."

From inside, I heard her pick up her pencil. I heard her say, very quietly: "Yeah, well. You're not the worst sister I've ever had."

"I'm the only sister you've ever had."

"Exactly. The bar was extremely low, and you barely cleared it. Like, limbo low. Like, 'the bar was on the floor, and you tripped over it' low. Now GET LOST WEIRDO!"

---

Human Sera laughed, the sound like wind chimes and distant bells and something sad underneath. "I love her," she said. "I really, really love her. I always did. Even when she was mean. Especially when she was mean. Because her meanness was just love in a scary costume."

I went to my room. I closed the door. I climbed into bed with Moo Moo curled on my chest, his little green body warm and soft and completely useless as a guard worm.

Human Sera floated to the foot of my bed and sat cross-legged in the air, watching me with a gentle smile. Her face—my face—looked peaceful. Almost happy.

"Goodnight, current me," she said.

"Goodnight, ghost me."

"Sweet dreams. Don't let the gremlins bite."

"There are no gremlins."

"That you know of. Also, nice job with Mina. You're getting better at the whole 'sister' thing. She's hard to crack. Like a walnut. But you're cracking her. Slowly. With feelings."

"I learned from watching you."

"Did you?" She tilted her head. "Because I don't remember teaching you anything. I was too busy being dead."

"You taught me by being here. By being her sister first. By showing me what it looked like."

Human Sera was quiet for a long moment. Then she smiled—a real smile, not a sarcastic one.

"Yeah, well," she said softly. "You're not the worst replacement I've ever seen."

"I'm the only replacement you've ever seen."

"Exactly. The bar was on the floor, and you're doing great. Now sleep. You have more A's to earn. And I have more sarcastic comments to make that no one will hear."

Life was good.

Or so I thought.

---

Because just as my eyes began to close—just as the warmth of the blankets and the softness of Moo Moo's fur and the sound of Mina's pencil began to pull me toward sleep—I felt it.

A flicker.

A whisper at the edge of my perception. Something that did not belong in this quiet house, in this quiet life, in this quiet world I had built for myself with B's and A's and framed photographs.

Human Sera felt it too. Her smile vanished. Her translucent form went rigid, her eyes widening. For the first time since I'd met her, she looked scared.

"Oh no," she whispered.

"What?" I asked, sitting up. "What is it?"

"That's not..." She shook her head, backing toward the wall, her ghostly hands pressed against her chest. "That's not from here. That's not from anywhere good. I know that feeling. I've felt it before. Right before—"

"Right before what?"

She looked at me. Her face—my face—was pale. Paler than usual, which was impressive for a ghost.

"Right before I died," she said.

"You never told me that?" I said in alarm.

"Well, I thought it was not a big deal and I thought it was just the wind. But before I opened the window, I did feel something like this coldness brushing through my room, and I thought maybe it was just my imagination. Then, when I got zapped out of my body, well, I thought I saw something, but yet nothing was there except this same coldness."

The air grew cold. Not the cold of winter or open windows or Dad's bad excuses. This was the cold of elsewhere. The cold of a place I had tried very, very hard to forget. The cold of a realm that had no business knocking on my door.

Moo Moo's eyes snapped open. His antennae went rigid. His small body trembled like a leaf in a hurricane.

"Moo," he whispered, his tiny voice shaking. "Something's coming."

I pulled him close. I stared at the ceiling. I listened to the sounds of the house—Mum's footsteps, Dad's muffled voice, Mina's pencil scratching against paper like nothing was wrong.

And I knew, with a certainty that settled into my bones like frost, that this peace was not meant to last.

Something was coming.

And for the first time in months, my celestial blood ran cold.

Human Sera floated to my side and took my hand—I couldn't feel her, but I knew she was there.

"Whatever it is," she said quietly, "you're not facing it alone. I'm here. I'm always here. Even if no one else can see me. Even if no one else can hear me. I'm here."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"No. But it's true. And sometimes true is better than better."

She was right. Unfortunately.

Something was coming. And I had yet to fully awaken.

But now I had only a ghost, a fluffy green creature, and a family of chaos-loving lunatics on my side.

Would that be enough?