Immortal Curse

  Okay, so let’s set this straight; we’re not going to be best buds. You and I won’t be the pals that joke around with each other or stay up late texting. I don’t even have a phone, anyways. We’re not going to be friends. Trust me, it’s for the better. Everyone’s told me that I’m different, that I don’t belong, so you should listen to them.

 Anyways, since you're so interesting,  I’m Misora. I'm 17, and I attend Pike Peek High school in Dove Creek, Colorado. I have a father, but that’s it. I have strawberry blonde hair and neon purple eyes. And for your information, no I don't have contacts. I was born this way. Maybe that’s the reason why I’m different. Now you’re probably getting bored of me yapping my mouth away. Whatever. Deal with it. And you’re also probably wondering why I’m different. Well, I’ll tell you.

 I can’t die.

 Do us both a favor and don’t announce this to this cruel world. I’m putting my trust in you (My therapist says I have to trust someone, and you just happen to be here.) You’ll just get yourself killed, and unlike me, you won’t come back. Me? I’ll just die for half an hour, and then wake up sputtering and gasping for air. For anyone who has severe asthma, it feels exactly like an asthma attack. But after a minute, it goes away. It’s happened to me countless times.

 I die all the time. I could fall down stairs and sit up after half an hour, all healed up as if nothing happened. It’s like waking up from a dream. At first, a sharp twinge of pain engulfs my body, or wherever I was hit, but then I’ll snap my eyes open and the pain is gone.

 My mother called me the Devil’s child and left me and my father. Oh well. I didn’t really like my mother, anyways. She served raisin cookies and not chocolate chip cookies. That’s enough to make me hate a person. Then again, I hate people. Period.

 So now you know about my life, I suppose you’re going to tag along with me on my journey. What journey, you may ask? Why, I’m going to find out about myself. I’m pretty sure it’s not normal for someone to come back from the dead. Or maybe it is. Okay, point is, I wanna know who I really  am. I wanna see if there are any other teenagers like me. Of course, I'll leave when I move out. I'm too busy with school at the moment.

 Okay, time to stop thinking. I close my homework and slide it into my back backpack. Despite my tomboyish taste, I don't dress like one. I wore ripped light blue denim shorts. I had a grey shirt the showed off my left shoulder. The shirt was thin, so you could see my white tank top. It was something I wore every day. I tapped my black tennis shoes against the counter and bobbed my head to the beat of my music.

 The doorbell rang, so I got up and open the door. My dad stood there with a goofy grin.

“I forgot where the keys to the house are.”

“Again? Really, Dad? This is the third time this week. I don’t know how you’re still a scientist, you always forget things.”

“But I’m still a genius!” I stepped to the side and let my dad in. My dad works as a scientist for the government. Ugh, the government. I hate politics. "Misora, how was school? Did you make any friends today?"

I snort, "No, I don't need friends. Are we gonna go over this every day, dad? You come in every day and ask me the same question every day."

"Until I find out you have a friend, yes, this will go on every day." I moan, which only made my dad laugh his good natured laugh. He hung his coat on the coat rack and turned around to hug me. I roll my eyes, but smile and hug him. He smelled of cologne, nice cologne. We part and I walk into the kitchen to open a can of pop. "Young lady, what are you doing?'

"Uh, opening a can of pop. Is there a problem?"

"Where did you get that? The dentist said no pop!"

"Dad, you worry too much." I open the grape flavored pop and sunk onto the couch. I looked out the window and saw a black van with tinted windows pull into our drive way. "Dad, is that one of your work buddies?" No reply. "Dad? Hello? You there?"

"I'll...I'll be right back." Dad's face was pale white. He opens the door and goes to meet the men coming out of the van. Each of them wore some kind of S.W.A.T. armor and wore shades. They had an ear piece and wore all black. Geez, they looked like real nice guys. Not. I could see Dad arguing with them. Finally, they shoved him aside and started to enter our house. I crushed my pop can with my bare hands. Aw. Hell. No. No one touches Dad but me!

 My therapist says I have to control my anger, but I'll do me a favor and ignore her. I swing open the door before the strange men could touch it.

"Who are you?!"  I spat, as if the words itself would poison me. I narrow my neon purple eyes and growl like an animal. Yeah, call me what you'd like, animal or a beast. I get enough from the bullies at school. I grip the doorway. The strange men didn't seem to be affected. Whatever. They don't scare me, no one does.

"Are you Misora Miyakawa?"

"What of it?"

"You're going with us." The second man frowns. Dad runs over and stands in front of me protectively.

"No, no, no! You can't!" He cries. "You promised you wouldn't take her!"

Something strange happens. The first guy says something really fast. Was that Italian? My dad lowers his arms and his head hangs low.

"Dad, what's going on?"

"Ma'am, please follow us." The second man grabs my arm. I throw him over my shoulders and into the first guy. 

"Dad, lets go!" I grab his arm, but he stood still. His eyes were red and puffy.

"...No."

"No?!" I let go of his arms. Dad finally met my eyes.

"I'm not going to stop them." My eyes widened. Gosh, I feel like my heart's been broken. Before I can do anything, the first guy gets up and holds me down. I scream and kick and punch, but Dad doesn't do anything. Instead, he turns away and closes his eyes, as if he couldn't bear to watch this. 

 I must have pissed off one of the guys when I kicked his groin. I have no idea what he was thinking, but he takes out his gun. I built up my nerve and whack the gun away.

 Actually, let’s rephrase that: I tried to whack the gun away. I hiss and grab my hand. Ow. Ow. Ow. Note to self: don't hit guns with your bare hands. It hurts. Of course, I almost completely forget about the other guy. Almost. I grab a tree branch. Actually, it was a twig. I look at it, then to the guys, and then to Dad. Wait, where's Dad? I took a step back. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my neck. Did I just hear a gun shot? Bam. My legs give out. Bam. My right arm is gone and so is my "weapon." I finally hear one last gun shot, before a pain envelops my head and my body. Darkness consumes my vision, and I collapse.

Great, now I’m dead.

Perfect.