Live While You Have the Gift of Life

 I used to laugh when people said, "Live every day to its fullest because you never know if it will be your last." Now I regret it. I now know that I should have followed that advice.

 But it is too late. I am dead now and I don't know what would have happened if I had taken those risks and had fun. If I had lived every day to its fullest I would have had something when I died. I would have had a smile on my face because I would have known that I had lived my life to its fullest and taken the risks that I normally would have been to scared to take. It's too late for that now.

 Now I am a wandering spirit. I wander the Earth, lonely, depressed, and I spend my days regretting. Regretting those days when I had opportunities and I didn't take them. When I would stick to my boring days of nothing. 

 The day I died, ah, I remember it so clearly, as if it were yesterday. It was about a month ago. I was getting dressed for school that morning when I heard the crash. I was scared, so I hid. I hid in my walk-in closet. 

 Then I heard screaming, a gun shot, and more screaming. I was scared, oh so scared. My pale skin was even paler than usual and my hands were trembling. 

 Then, I heard footsteps pounding into my bedroom. My eyes widened slightly and I struggled to control my breathing. I kept as quiet as a mouse but I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood when the person opened my closet door.  

 The person grabbed my arm, but still I was quiet. I did not speak and did not pull away for I knew it was useless. Even from here I could see the defined shape of the persons muscles. I knew that if I tried to run that the person would overpower me in a second.

 I simply let them drag me out of the closet. When I saw the person up close I saw that it was a boy. The boy was around seventeen and yet he had a cold face. I did not know such a young person could have such a cold face. 

 I reconized the person. It was a boy from my school. Yet I knew that he had not come here to save me, so he must have been here to murder me. I was finally able to speak but instead of speaking, silent tears streamed down my face.

 I covered up my emotions by putting on a blank face. I stared at him blankly. I saw a flicker of something humane in his eyes before it vanished. He grabbed my arms roughly and pushed me down the stairs into the kitchen.

 The kitchen was a mess. The table was broken and I saw my foster-dad lying on the floor dead. He had a bullet hole right in the middle of his forehead. I didn't care. I didn't like him anyway. I just stared coldly at the dead body.

The boy saw my expression and he must have realized that my reaction was wrong.  I was supposed to be bawling my eyes out and begging for mercy. But I was not. I only had dried up tears and a cold expression on my face. But the expression was not directed at my soon-to-be-murderer, it was directed at my foster-father. 

 And I was not begging for mercy. I knew that it would get me nowhere. I stayed silent. The boy had not heard a peep out of me. He must have thought that I was planning an escape but I was not. I knew that would be useless too. 

 He finally spoke, "Sit down, Calla."

I gave him a glare and said, "Well, at least you remembered my name. But that doesn't give you the right to order me around like I am not a human being," and I stood. I did not sit down and I knew I was going to be punished. I did not care, I had nothing to live for.

 He walked over and slapped me in the face. I didn't even flinch. I did not make a noise. I stayed silent yet again. I did not even feel pain. He made a weird face and kicked me in the stomach. Again, I did not do anything.