The old lady put the stove on. “How many days have you been dead? You’ll grow into it. It’s particularly this way because death isn’t the way you saw it while you were alive.”
Esohe despised the past tense; she was still alive. "But I should feel different. At least, I shouldn't feel alive."
“Do you feel alive?” The old lady poured some oil on the pan, fetched three eggs, and broke them into a bowl.
“I do. I can talk, walk. I can feel sadness, guilt…doubt.”
“And? Is that how to feel alive? Is that how you felt alive when you were truly alive?” She beat the eggs gently. Esohe had no answer to give.
“I am not going to convince you that you are dead,” the old lady added a pinch of salt to the beaten eggs. “Do you care for Maggi in your egg?”
Esohe nodded away.
"Put your hand under your breast and feel your heartbeat." The old lady said as she poured the mix into the hot oil.
Esohe hesitated, then pulled her shirt up, and placed her hand under her left breast. There was silence there. That sent chills over her, and she thought she was going to cry, but the tears didn’t come. She had not even bothered to check. It was crazy. She lived every day, not worried about the little organ in her chest.
“I am sorry,” the old lady said as she grabbed a spoon.
“What if I am not dead?”
“What if you are?” The old lady flipped the egg over.


...

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