Rose awakens and stands up. She looks over to see her freshly healed, gun wounded body. All though having a hole through her head, she had never seen her self quite that beautiful.
"Well, that happened." She murmurs under her breath.
She rubs her head and feels the gun wound on her head. She sighs.
A few moments go by as the cherry wood grandfather clock ticks away in the corner. The room started to get warmer and brighter. She looks behind her to see a black door with nothing but illuminescent light filling the room. It blinds rose.
All though she can't see, she feels a presence calling her in. It's warm and welcoming, as if someone were offering her an embrace.
She walks towards it shielding her eyes, she felt pure upon entering that door way of light.
All of a sudden she wakes up in a cold sweat. In her bed. In her house. Fresh banana bread had filled the house with a sweet scent. She looks over to see her dog Pinochio. He died two years ago at lake Pontchatrain, he was a mere pup that couldn't quite swim. When he jumped in the water alone, no one was there to save him.
Rose runs down stairs and to the kitchen. She sees her beautiful mother pulling out a fresh loaf of banana bread.
"Good morning, love." Her mothers sweet Britain accent filled Rose's ears.
Down the hall she hear faint footsteps that progressively get louder. A small child jumps on Rose's back.
"Rosey posey! I misseded you!"
It couldn't be. It's her sister Belle, who had died at the age of five because of a mix of lung cancer an T.B. She had dark chocolate hair an deep green eyes. Not like most of her family. She takes from their fathers side.
When Rose was five and Belle had just died, their father had left. They were happy he finally left. From that point on, they had peace.
Rose's face goes pail.
"Rose dear, what's wrong? Looks as if you seen a ghost dear."
She hugs Belle and her mother and slowly approaches the door. Grasping the doorknob, she turns the knob. She opens the door. There is the shape and structures of her neighbor hood housing, but no color. Every thing seems to be this glowing cream color except her house and one down the street.
It was crazy old Mrs. Miller. The widow was terrified of everything. She didn't like grass. She didn't like butterflies. She was even scared of a ceiling fan. But, she wasn't scared of Rose. The old woman felt closer to Rose more and more every time she would visit.
After her husband had died she didn't trust any one. But Rose was special.
When Rose one day went in to visit, Mrs. Miller was lying on the floor. Motionless, cold, with a dead look in her eyes. No sign of struggle, no sign of pain, no sign of anything. They still haven't found out who murdered Mrs. Miller, but the case is still open.
As Rose walks further and further up her pathway to the white picket fence she opens the gate, and walks in to the street. She looks down the road. There's a big, arena stadium looking structure. She walks towards it, it seems to bigger by each step she takes. There is one thundering voice getting louder as she steps on foot closer. She approaches the steps. The large cage gates open, what's in front of her is amazing.
