Amatis

Chapter One

I walked up to the Breckenridge Medical Center with about twenty feet separating me from the entrance. The waxing moonlight illuminated the solid concrete beneath my feet. Sparkling as if it were made out of diamonds rather than cement. I look to my left. I see an aged stucco wall with a curb of barren marigolds leaning down like they’re ready to go away for the fall. The flowers abstract all the attention away from the cracking in the barrier of the beige and grey stone. How long has it been since I’ve last come here? I take another step closer to the entrance. Maybe it was last week. What a shame that the flowers are withering so soon.

I look to my right this time. I see a line of Mexican-Buckeye trees losing their lustrous feel of green and fuschia branching from their roots to their tips. Everything surrounding me seems to be swallowed into this enclosure of dullness and death. After all, death is my specialty. I should be used to this feeling by now.

I took two more steps forward until I realized that I wasn’t dressed properly. My usual gothic, lolita dress and my Dia De Los Muertos makeup won’t do the job if I’m in a public place, such as a hospital. I’d look too suspicious. My black and white striped dress extending to my knees with snow-white lace kissing the bottom of the dress, which flows out like a ballerina’s tutu. The frosted bow that comes together at the V of my dress, along my chest, reaches to the back like a sailor collar. And my “Day Of The Dead” makeup contrasting in blacks, whites and teals, all mixed together to create the illusion of a skeleton skull on my face. Plus, it’s tradition to wear that makeup anyways. I would get security called up on my ass if I took one step past the automatic doors and into the lobby of the medical center.

I shut my eyes for a brief moment and imagined myself as the stereotypical nurse. When I opened my eyes I looked down at my new apparel. White shoes, baby blue pants and a matching V-neck with a clipboard in my left hand and a stethoscope around my neck. Special ability number 1: I can manifest things just by imagining them.

I was able to stroll through the lobby without a care. The receptionist at the front desk just smiled and waved at me. Too easy.

I heard my communicator give off a faint beep as I walked up the emergency stair exit. My communicator notifies me when there is an off-course soul. In other words, a soul of a dying. Also it allows me to communicate with my fellow soul-catchers. My “patient” appeared to be on level five, second floor to the top of the hospital. I opened the door leading into a hallway of doors, stained the color of an ashy brown, that also mirrored each other. Such a boring interior design. I walked in a rhythmic pace, hearing the click of my heals echo throughout the building. Beep. Beep. My communicator chimed as I continued my way down this endless hallway. Beep beep beep beep beep beep! I found my destination. Room 108.

I gave the doorknob a little twist to the right and peered my head into the room. I could sense death filling every square inch of the room by the way my stomach turned. Stepping inside the room, I spotted my target. He was about my age; 16. Maybe even a little older. No, he’s actually 19. His skin seemed paler than it should, almost has a grey hue to it instead of his usual caucasian glow. I would know because of special ability number 2: I can visualize the human and it’s lifestyle before they were practically deceased. Only certain Vita can see the potential and past of a human. His blonde hair used be past his eyebrows in the front of his head, and barely touching his neck in the back. A bald head and a fragile body is all that I see lying unconscious in a bed in front me.

I could sense that the human only had 2 more minutes to live. My heart rate slows down whenever a dying is about to pass away. I feel lethargic and unsteady, almost like being in a relationship with Taylor Swift. His eyes were shut closed and his cheeks were so hollowed that I could practically see the bone structure on his thin face. So thin and still that I could mistake him as statue at first glance if I didn’t know any better.