Yin-Yin

For Yin-Yin, life had been a series of vignettes rather than a continuous narrative. She was born and raised alongside a whole gaggle of siblings—no, half-siblings—in a house as big as she had ever known, and had never wanted for anything. She was happy, for the most part, though toward the end of her comparatively short life the happiness slipped away as surely as her life force did with the onset of the disease. As the months dragged on, polite concern gave way to brutal reality. Keeping her around was a reminder of bad luck, she heard one of her father's wives hiss. Better to let her go and invest the family coffers in brighter futures. Whether it was coincidence or bitterness that finally claimed her, Yin-Yin did not know. She was embalmed and laid to rest in a coffin in the family mausoleum, and offerings were burned to her on auspicious days. One day, the offerings dwindled to a stop. Her spirit stirring from hunger, an incredible urge seized Yin-Yin's mind, and she willed her body to life. She bounced out on rigid limbs with such force that her forgotten offering altar clattered to the ground, sending an unfortunate grave robber screaming into the dark night. Jerking her stiff neck skyward, a faint scent of sweetness registered on Yin-Yin's senses. Oblivious to the fact she was essentially a walking corpse, the spirited girl hopped off in search of sustenance, inadvertently spawning folk myths whereever her bounding leaps took her. The young corpse-girl would eventually find a kind soul in a señora named Lydia, who gently guided her into her new family—the camaraderie of the spirit world. Here, she would no longer be alone...or hungry.