The Living Dead Girl

Welcome to Hell

Authors note: I've decided to not do the vampire and werewolf cliche. I'm gonna do something darker than that. Creepypasta who?
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I couldn't remember where I was... or even who I was. All I remember was pain. I couldn't see anything when I tried to remember either. I hated the fact that I couldn't remember much. What I could remember were weird simple things like cemeteries and death metal music. I also could remember blood. Loads of blood, buckets and gallons of red steamy liquid. Oh and I guess I liked to paint too.

For whatever reason, that was all gone. Before that, I remember being a pianist. The keys of black and white would make such lovely sounds. I still can play like a champion. That lasted for a small while. It all faded away at the age of 24 where I was murdered by a man.  How can I remember that life so well and I seemingly can't remember the recent one? Shit.

I grew up here in a sleepy small town surrounded by trees and lakes. My new family took me hiking and swimming and eating out to new places. By the age of 7 I spoke fluent French and by the age of 10 I was riding horses professionally. Some things I've learned before this life and decided to bring to this life. Other things I left out such as my homosexuality. I can't handle the constant crying and disowning. I was closeted back in 1802 where I and my past wife were murdered and assaulted by a group of drunk, angry sailors.

Seemingly I get murdered mostly, but some cases I've died of old age. That I'll explain when the time is somewhat right.

"Ah shit it's raining," I mumble to myself in the midst of all my internal thinking. I was so hooked in figuring out my last life. Maybe it'll come to me eventually. That happens more often every time I start over. Frankly, it's annoying. "God dam-"

CLANK.