Note: Once again I mention my story editor does not work. I have to write this on the poem editor.
Chapter One
When I finally came to, everything looked white. Like snow. I leaned forward. I was in a- a hospital bed. Did I not die? Did my suicide fail?
Frantic, I looked around. I did not have life support on. No monitors. No IV. I was wearing a pair of white scrubs. I had a necklace on, off of which hung three silver dog tags.
The room was almost totally empty aside from my bed. There was what appeared to be a mirror over in the right corner. In the left corner was a heavy metal door, no handle on my side. A tiny window accented the door.
I was in the asylum. I knew it. Must've gone crazy and they took me here. I knew something would go wrong. It always did.
I checked my dog tags. One had the number 2022_A engraved on it. The other had my name, birthdate and age. The other...I swallowed. It read:
Cause of Death: Suicide By Stabbing
I gasped. Where the heck was I anyway? What was going on? Cautiously, I lifted my top. My stoumach was fine. Smooth even. I felt it. It didn't hurt. There wasn't even a scar from where the knife had impaled me. I looked under my pillow. My knife was good and gone.
"That's wierd," I muttered. "So this is the afterlife, huh?"
I pinched my arm, just to make sure. I yelped. Obviously I hadn't trimmed my nails in awhile. Nope. I was awake. If you could call it that.
"Hey!" I yelled. "Does anyone work here?"
No response whatsoever.
I jumped down from my bed and walked over to the mirror.
I had never been real pretty. At all. My hair was such a mess. The raggedy orangish stuff was so tangled that I took on the appearance of Medusa. My eyes were the pale brown no one really cared for. Freckles dotted my cheeks bountifully. I was pretty skinny, but that was mostly because I had been homeless and starving for the past two years.
I heard a knock on the door.
"Come in," I said, my voice sounding a little like Donald Duck.
I cleared my throat.
The door opened, and in walked a man dressed totally in black. He had on a black trench coat, balck gloves, black pants and black boots. He cradles a clipboard in one arm.
"What are you? A Nazi?" I snarled rudely.
"Me? No." He shook his head. "I'm your Grim Reaper. Everyone has their own Reaper."
"What're you talking about?"
"Little Courtney Villa. Only twelve years old, yet you commited suicide last night, I see."
"What the hell are you getting at?"
"Courtney, Courtney, such a foul mouth for such a little girl!"
My "Reaper" bent down to pat my head. "My name is Sang."
"I'm not a dog!" I spat, pushing his hand away. "So, Sang, what's going on here?"
Sang's hair was dark, his eyes the same. But he didn't look real oriental, in fact, his skin was pretty pale. His eyes weren't all skinny either.
"Well, I came to speak to you." He walked back to the door and shut it. "Please, have a seaat, sweetie?"
"Sweetie?" I got back in bed, glaring at him. Sang came up to my bed and sat by my feet.
"I've got some concerns about your trail. They're thinking about Reincarnation."
I shook my head. "No..."
"You have a trail tonight." He sighed. "You can go if you want, but you'll have little say in your sentence."
I looked away, trying not to cry. "What's going to happen to me?"
"Well, several things can happen for a suicide. The obvious option is Reincarnation. You go back to Earth, and start all over again, from a baby."
My eyes widened.
He continued. "Then there's Xeno."
"Xeno?"
"Xeno is a Limbo for victims of murders and suicides."
"Can I do that?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Depends on your sentence." Sang rubbed his temples, then stood up.
He hugged me. I didn't fight him.
"I'll be back with your verdict first thing tomarrow, sweetheart," Sang said. "Try to get some sleep, 'kay?"
He kissed me on my forhead. "Bye."
I nodded. And when he shut the door behind him, it felt like the door on my life shut with it.
My Dearest, Most Wonderful Suicide Lollipop (#5)
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