Jeanine dies

Jeanine spins her wheels up to the front doors of the antebellum mansion. Familiar chalk-white columns hold strong against her outstretched hand.
A tall man with the nose of a buzzard and the slick-backed aged hair of a snow leopard greets her with a false smile and a beckoning arm. He halfheartedly pats her shoulder as she rolls on indifferently. She lays her purse on the rickety old table that greeted her entrance since childhood. She pays the lit menorah stood atop its withered surface no mind.
"How are ya, Jen?"
Tired eyes appraise with little effort. "Fine, father."
She acts as a mobile table, using her wheelchair to cart plates and utensils to help prepare the massive table in the hallowly-lit dining room. It's a played out game, older than she.
"I suppose there is no one new in your life, hmm?"
"No... mother."
Jeanine's eyes affix to her dinner plate as her family digs in around her. A thin and bony, ghost-white hand forks at barely-eaten mashed potatoes idly.
"Hah, say, Jenny, any new girls ya met recently?" asks the joker cousin innocently, a light smirk and a thoughtless laugh accompanying.
A tired glare. Black hair falls in front of the ghostly woman's glazed eyes. "You know I'm not like that. No." Humorless. Indifferent in voice.
Mother's eyes regard the ghost of a woman harshly.
A skeletal hand grips the white columns.
"Jeanine, where's this schooling even going? I just don't understand why ya'd even do that to yourself. You know how Eddie turned out after only five years of that!" The vulture looks down upon her, awaiting for the moment to peck her excuse apart.
"It won't be bad. It's not the one for me, but a scholarship is a scholarship." A weak hand helps maneuver the cigarette to her thin chapped lips, the haunt of red lip gloss staining the filter. "I'm not moving back in."
Her father grumbles. "You know the rules. We ain't payin' if-- "
"Yeah."
The bumps of childhood roads rumble through her dead legs, reminding the phantom of good childhood memories that no longer bring smiles. The hand grips the throttle peddle like a bird grips a perch. Eyes close on the long stretch in the forest reserve.
She opens them. Wheels pass over road lines. A near miss with a pickup. She feels nothing.

She just wants to feel something. A van rounds the bend up ahead. Hand squeezes throttle tighter. It's blue. The headlights are bright in the waning sun.

Her eyes close. She feels something, just before the dead hands yank the wheel.

Excitement.

Her eyes open, gazing upon the great grassy field. Flowers sway in the perfect breeze. Jeanine looks down at pink hooves.

She screams when she moves her hind legs.