Where the hell was the Reaper?
I had been waiting for over two hours, sitting on the dark, empty road. Wasn't he- or was it a she?- supposed to come by now? I glanced wearily around and sighed, trying to mentally gag the frustration I could feel building up. It was just a matter of time, and then I could finally be at peace. I figured it was suppossed to work like that anyway. You die, the Reaper comes to collect your soul, and if you've been a good little trooper then you head off to Heaven. Paradise. And I knew I had lived a good life. It was a short one- Only eighteen years. But I had never done anything wrong. Never stolen, I rarely lied. And I was a virgin. So where was Death? Why hadn't it come yet? When would I be granted my final release?
I looked over at my motionless body. In the movies and books, it always said the dead looked merely asleep. But what a load of crap that was. I didn't look at peace at all. I just looked dead. Pale as snow, cold, and dead. I was a tiny little thing; With dark, wavy brown hair that fell to my waist, and silvery blue eyes. But right now, lying on my back, completely motionless, my eyes looked just as empty as the city around me. Dark crimson was still bleeding through my white button down shirt, but not as fast as it was before. What a shame. I really liked that shirt.
I always thought when you died, it would be sad. I expected to greive, to cry, to do something. But once I realized I was dead, it wasn't sad. I didn't long for the life I used to have. I was at peace, despite the irritation that was prodding through the calm and numbness I felt inside. It seemed weird, out of place. Shouldn't my emotions be long gone?
As I sat across from my dead body, my back pressed against an old, rundown coffee shop's brick wall, I tried not to remember my last moments alive. But I couldn't stop the memories from rushing back into my head like a movie, disobeying my orders to stay locked in the back of my head until I was at rest. The colors and feelings took over me again as I was sucked back into the past. Two hours, to be exact.
Get a grip, Copelyn, I think to myself as I slip on my light brown jacket with shaking hands. You're fine, you'll be fine.
But I'm not fine. I'm a wreck. What is everyone going to think? What will they say? What do I tell them?
I push these questions to the very back of my mind as I half-stumble over to my tiny apartment bathroom. I glance at my mirror, checking my hair, moving the wavy pieces into the right place. After a deep breath, I finally decide that I look presentable. I try to force a smile at my reflection, but I am too nervous. This was my first time seeing my friends and family again since I had run away. What a stupid thing to do, but I can't change the past. Only try to move on. But change is scary, and I am scared. But I know I'll be okay. Mom and Dad will forgive me. My friends will forgive me. But I worry about Parker. The absolute love of my life. I have only known him for eight months, not counting the two where I had been in hiding. But I knew. I loved him. And yet I had still ran away, without telling anyone where I was. He thought I was dead. And I don't know what he's going to say. What if he hates me? What if he doesn't love me anymore? We used to always talk about getting married, having kids, but we were young and dreaming. He probably found someone knew. He did think I had kicked the bucket. I wouldn't be surprised.
I sigh, shoving the negative thoughts away for the millionth time tonight alone, and turn away from the mirror, walking out into the dim room. Without stopping to grab my cellphone setting on my kitchen counter, I walk out my front door. I hesitate at the first step, breathing in the fresh air as I finally accept the fact that I am ready. I'm ready and willing to face my family again.
I smile at this thought, and walk down the steps from my door to the pavement, already on my way to my parents house. I remember exactly where it is, and exactly how to get there, like the path was mentally burned into my mind. I'd never forget my childhood home.
