Diabolical

Chapter 1

"May I please have directions to The Pen Centre?" A chill passed through my body as the words came out of her mouth. I couldn't help but feel doomed as my naive figure stood by the car like a sitting duck. I could see a shadow looming over me, above me, behind me. When I tilted my head to the side, nobody was there. But I knew that would change.

My mouth disobeyed my thoughts, politely giving the stranger directions. You're going to die. It was like a scream in my mind, yet my physical form continued on like a pitiful zombie. I could only feel as though I was watching a horror movie through the eyes of the character about to die. I was the character about to die.

"Thanks for the directions!" The blonde girl smiled at me. I couldn't help but smile back.

"No problem." She brought herself into the back of her car, and I braced myself for what was yet to come. I can't run no matter how hard I try. The cold hands grasped my shoulders before I was ready, propelling me into the car. Another pair of hands grasped my neck, holding me back into place. I fought back.

As I struggled against the cruel will that is fate, a knife hit the surface of my neck, and made a deep incision. I wailed in agony, but to no avail. My screams did nothing in my attempt to escape, and at that point I knew it was pointless. Nobody would save me.

There were voices among all the chaos, perhaps talking to me. The beating of my heart drowned them out. I didn't want to hear them in the first place. After what seemed like hours of useless struggling, a house popped into my peripheral vision. The car stopped. I opened my eyes

...............................................................

My dilated pupils focused on a plain white wall as I sat up, a fan whirring directly above me. It was only a dream. Covered in sweat and gasping for air, I glanced around, struggling to get a hold of myself. Just a dream... just a dream. I shook my head, wiping off the beads of perspiration that beaded my forehead, and took one last gulp of air. Only... a... dream. Releasing myself from the soggy blanket, I looked into the mirror next to my bed.

Hands suddenly wrapped around my neck and I couldn't help but yelp out in horror. I struggled profusely, closing my eyes and grabbing the hands to ply them off of me. Nothing was there. When I blinked my eyes back open, the hands were gone. I watched as the deep cut on my neck slowly faded into nothing. It was only a dream.

After I recovered from the ordeal, a mixture of relief and annoyance filled throughout me. Of course it was only a dream. It's always only a dream. But the life I woke up in, the body that holds my spirit... it's not mine. Not my original one, anyways. Gritting my teeth, I willed - no - dragged my mortal body out of bed, switching on the lights. It was time for the dreaded thing that is school.

I prepared myself in the usual way, dressing in clothes that are most appealing to my peers. I decided if I'm living for a second time, I might as well be popular. To enjoy this life even more, or at least try to, I formed my own posse. It consists of these two idiots at school: Ellie and Emily. I don't really care about them, but they're too dumb to notice. In the hierarchy of school, I'd say we're held up pretty high.

Just like normal, living, average children, we share secrets about boys and complain about our parents. I don't actually care about their problems, everyone I share my horrible life with makes me more miserable. I guess I'd rather have stupid friends than be a loser, though, so I'm not too upset about it. But as a dead ghost trapped inside an angsty 13 year old body, I occasionally take out my emotions on innocent strangers. By occasionally, I mean constantly.

As I walked out my door and headed downstairs, I considered eating breakfast, but was turned off by the idea when my "parents" approached.

"Good morning Mia! We've made you pancakes for breakfast, your favorite. Come get them before they get cooold!" God how I hated the name Mia. Given to me my second birth, I can account for the fact that it is not my real name. I scowled.