the 2nd chance for a witch

The Bus

I walk on the bus, eyes never looking at anyone's face. The other kids laugh at me, and the bus driver always looks at me weird. I mean, he's probably thinking: what kind of 6 years old only wears black? Let me tell you, it was not my choice.

I sit down in seat number 27, like always. I mean, it's not like it's part of the rules, but I've always liked the number 27. The 27th kid in class and the 27th day of August as my second birthday. . . .

You heard me. My second birthday. You see, I'm a witch. And, NO, not like from Harry Potter.

To be a witch, you have to be accepting of people, open to learning new things and have died either by the hands of a loved one or by an element(earth, air, fire, water). Let me guess, you want to know how I died, don't you? It went like this:

(FLASHBACK)

Okay, my friend(her name is Emerald) is driving me to my friend's place, who happens to live on the other side of the cliff. This friend that I'm going to go see, her name's Shauna. We're going downhill, and we're almost there, when we spot a tree in the road, from yesterday's storm. Emerald's going at about 60-70 MPH and 40 feet when she tries stomping on the brakes. When it doesn't work, she starts to panic. Emerald looks down at the pedal, and the car swerves. I cry out. her head shoots back up again, and she shrieks:

"We're going to die!" well, that's only half true. She gets stuck in the hospital for a few months. But I die, probably because Emerald has better reflexes than me- sorta.

We're almost at the tree when she swerves. The wrong way. So instead of going into the ditch, we crash through the guardrail, which was weak, to begin with, and down the cliff. The car lands on the driver's side. The seat belt snaps from the impact, and we scream, my seat belt snaps, and I fall off the face of the small cliff shelf and down 45 FT, I fall, to another cliff shelf and unto my death.

A car behind us honks and I'm brought back to the present. The other kids start to laugh, and I realize that it's my stop. I flush, stand up, and start to walk down the aisle when Elliot Gambell grabs my upper arm; with a slightly tight grip. I stop and look at him.

"Hey, have you ever thought about getting help for, well, you know..."

Had I been any other person I might've have said that when he said that, that he almost looked innocent. Had this not been me he was talking to, I might've have said that he was sincere. Had this not been me, I might've thought that he was talking about everyone at school bullying me.But this is me. And I'm not a normal six-year-old who's gullible and naive. If I was, I would furrow my brow in confusion and ask what he meant. Instead, I do this: I give him my best smile, lean in and say in a soft and quiet voice that still managed to carry to everyone's ears on the bus.

"What, like therapy? No. But I bet your mother has to drag you to your sessions every week-" I lower my voice further so that only he can hear it, next to his ear- "for you know, your issues...." I may not like him, or anyone for that matter, but that doesn't mean that he should be completely humiliated.

When I finish the bus is deadly silent. Nobody expected for me, the little goth girl, to talk. And definitely not like that. Serves them right. Just because I don't run my trap like they do doesn't mean that I'm mute or anything.

Then Elliot does something unexpected. He furrows HIS brow as if he doesn't understand what I'm saying. but maybe I'm just reading into it to much. It's probably just because he can't figure out how I knew that he had a counselor. Not that I would know if he does go see a shrink, I'm not that creepy.

"No- what I meant was-" his friend interrupts him. It's weird, it's almost like he meant something else. Still, better not to trust him. Or anyone for that matter. That can only lead to pain .

"Shut up Ell!" He flushes. Well, I guess his friend knew what he was going to say. I smirk and finally get off the bus. The driver looks at me as if I'm possessed. Well, perhaps I am and I just don't know it yet. After all, how many people live twice and remember every detail?