My welcome into the afterlife was as confusing and unceremonious as my farewell from Earth. I surfaced from a frantic black scrabble for reality to find myself upright, fumbling instead at white tiles in a shower-sized cubicle. As swiftly as I had arrived, one of the four walls slid back to reveal a throng of gory-looking people shuffling at a glacial pace through a corridor (so white it near blinded me) each with a look of bewilderment which likely mirrored mine. The same murderous branch, which had stopped my heart, remained proud, protruding from my chest. It jutted out like an accusing finger and the pain throbbed like my heart longed to.
Noting no benefit to lingering in the walls, I too joined the bloody mass. The door swished shut behind me, becoming assimilated into the wall as if it were never there. After a few seconds of awkward jostling and back-prodding, I fell in with the rhythm of endless feet on smooth linoleum, suppressing my usual irritation at having to walk behind a slow group and focusing on the people around me.
Nearest to me was a butcher without a hand, a charred woman carrying an equally charred baby, and a teen in swimming trunks, rivulets of water still dripping down his blue-tinged form. If your eyes passed over the injuries and tattiness, it could’ve been a group of sports fans queuing for entrance to a stadium, but no one spoke; the only sounds were of breathing, footfall, and my neighbour’s cheap cords chafing with each step. He had a bullet wound above his ear and a gun in his hand, and when I caught his eye he gave me a glare to be feared. I held up my hands and raised my brows: the universal sign of retreat.
I tried to feel for the hole in my mouth where a canine used to be, a habit of mine I’d developed after a nasty bar fight, and found that I had no tongue to probe the cavity with. Something rushed in to quell my anxiety as soon as I felt it begin to rise, and I realised that I should’ve been feeling more, thinking more. But this dampener left me unable to do much more than march onwards, observing as I went the occasional newcomer stumbling out of the walls.
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Her Red City (WattyAwards2013 entry- new version)
FantasyA murdered girl finds herself embroiled in the affairs of dead kings, meddling overlords, mindless thugs and psychotic rebels. Can she lead the 'All' to a new era? Or will she meet a more deadly fate? Read on to find out! Hey there, just a little in...
