𝕒 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕
Juliet Miller leads a normal life with her family as a senior in high school. Just before she graduates, however, she dies.
She wakes up in a whole different world in a room that is completely foreign...
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"You guys need to jump!" Tanner shouts from below, "You'll get stuck up there!"
Without hesitating, Brooke leaps off of the cloud and lands gracefully on the ground many feet under us, where everybody else is.
She grunts when she meets the ground, and a few others down there help her up.
Thanks for that.
"Julia, jump!" Brooke commands. I freeze in place, my anxiety starting to take over my mind. Stepping a few feet back to jump, I struggle to find the bravery to do it.
"Jump, I'll catch you!" Tanner shouts, "Hurry!" The cloud is only getting higher and transforming into a deep gray. I could quite literally get struck by lightning.
I told myself that I wouldn't be surprised by anything anymore, but I stand corrected. How on earth am I standing on a cloud?
I take several steps back this time and get a running start, then leap off of the cloud, feeling my arms flail around as I fall. My stomach feels like it flew up to my chest and I hold my breath.
Our cloud has drifted several feet from the edge of stage one, and I didn't realize until now. It's far too late to do anything about it, so I hope that I jumped far enough to hit the ground.
I reach my hands out to grab the very end of the cliff, the end of stage one; I didn't jump far enough to get my entire body onto the ground safely.
I feel the hard dirt slap against my hands and I grab on as hard as I can, but the momentum I gained while falling loosens my grip.
I feel a hand grab my arm and help me up. I crawl onto the safe ground and lie on my back, breathing hard from the adrenaline.
"That was so sick!" Tanner's friend shouts, giving me a high five. I smile weakly, barely catching my breath.
"Are you okay?" Tanner asks me, still holding my arm.
"I'm fine, thank you." I reply. His eyes are even more blue up close. They sparkle when I look at him, like when I look at everybody.
He was definitely a surfer when he was alive, he's tan and muscular and has blonde hair-- he perfectly fits the stereotype.
"You had some nerve to do that, I wasn't entirely sure you were going to make it." He says and helps me up, then examines my wrist, holding it in his hand.
His eyebrows narrow into a knot, they're thin and don't have much of a shape to them. His eyelashes are long, I can see them from where I'm standing.
"Died in a fire, huh?" he asks. I realize he's looking at my scars.
"How did you know?" I question. There's no way he could figure out what they meant just by looking at them.
"The little mark you have on your hand. It looks like a ball of fire." He observes, "everyone has one."
