Lifeless. Deceased. Departed. Dead. There are a million words that all spiral into the same meaning.
Call me a drama queen if the next sentence seems theatrical but...
I despise being a dead girl.
Having my body dragged into an unknown future wasn't entertaining in the slightest, I highly doubt it entertained my supposed killer. The echoing, doubtful mumbling gave that away.
But as I sit ominously in a chair with a computer in front of me, I can't help but ponder the idea, the reason or motive as to why someone had plotted my death. As to why someone in the dismal town of Ordell decided my death be necessary, that their, mine or anyone else's life would be better if I were dead. I wish I could know, but if I am to stay alive now, I mustn't explore the idea beyond my own thoughts.
So I shall sit in this dismal chair, in this dismal room as the light from my computer provides me with the only glow and reassurance I can earn from my pathetic and regretful attempt of a hideout, and I will try not to fall wary in my thoughts.
Because being the person I am, I must for a reason unknown to myself, figure out why someone tried to kill me, and why am so lucky to be breathing in the world that thinks me dead. To belong and take from something that knows nothing of my presense, like a parasite that slowly kills you.
Quite a strange thought, is it not?
YOU ARE READING
The Fatalist.
Misterio / SuspensoShe's a noir, fatalistic dead girl. But only if you ask the person that killed her.
