It was a typical rainy Sunday. New York city was alive. Preparations for Noel already started early as usual. Christmas songs were played everywhere on radios and televisions to mark the best time of the year. Everything seemed to be perfect. Well, except for one thing. I was watching my funeral.
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Resurrected
FantasyThe grim reaper told me that I was not supposed to die. The only way for me to be resurrected is finding the truth about it. What happened to me?
