I stood on the roof of my school, staring out at the colourful London skyline. Lights twinkled like stars, being up here was better than being in Maths. A beautiful bird was soaring in the sky. I took a step closer, in awe of the bird’s grace, and tripped. Suddenly I was soaring through the air like the bird, the difference was, I couldn’t pull out of my dive.
That’s when I died.
My eyes fluttered open, I looked up at the celling of a strange room. It was very cold, too cold. I was dead in heaven… or hell! This wasn’t how I’d imagined the afterlife; the room I lay in had stone walls with grand portraits on them and velvet rugs on the floor. I climbed off the obviously expensive four-poster bed I had been laying on, and nearly screamed. The woman sitting opposite me was someone I recognised but hadn’t in a million years thought I would meet. She was fiddling with a rosary, which she wore on her neck, and was looking at me curiously.
“Pray girl would you mind telling me how you materialised in my bed chamber?” Asked Mary Tudor! “I… I…” I was speechless, I’d heard of reincarnation, but I’d always assumed it would be in the future, not the Tudor era. “Please, do calm down, I’m not going to kill you!” She was kind; my history teacher had always implied that she was a cruel and heartless witch. “Well I thought I was dead, and I must have been, but now I’m here, and… I just want, my, my, mum!” I burst into tears, Mary Tudor sat me down on her bed and put a comforting arm around me, I sobbed into her smooth, silk dress. Her face looked troubled, but understanding. “What has happened to you sounds like a miracle, and God’s work always ends in good, but I know how you feel. When I was a child my father divorced my mother and incarcerated us in two separate castles. We only exchanged one illegal letter before she died. But you must pull through, be strong. I noticed a glistening tear on her cheek, and without thinking I wiped it away with my hand. Mary smiled appreciatively down at me, I smiled back. An idiotic thought suddenly popped into my head. “How high up is this room?” I asked Mary, rushing to the window to look out. “It is the highest room in the Tower of London!” She looked at me with puzzled eyes. “Don’t stop me Mary, I’m going back to my mother, remember me, please. History will remember you, I promise!” Mary was still confused, only when I jumped out of the window did she move. She ran to the window, but I’d already hit the ground.
That’s when I died… again.
I opened my eyes, I felt weak and broken. My mother’s desperate face was the first thing I saw. I finally was home. That’s when I survived.
