April 24
Dear the New Me,
Moments ago, I died. 72 years ago, you did too. I have taken my finally breath, but you haven't. You have been given a second chance, something not often given. Your gift is to become me, my death is your chance. You won't have any memories of your past life or mine. I'm sorry, but I don't know what you will have to face, you'll be confused on who you are and what's happening. For this reason, I've asked they send you an angel. You won't know who they are, but know, they will be there. Don't try to find them, its pointless, they'll find you. I would like to give you a piece of advice before my final parting. Never love an angel. It's dangerous, they can't return the love of the living. I hope you can find the happiness I never could.
The old you,
Naomi Hale
"Kill..." the low whispering voice trailed off into my head. I don't think the strange whispering voice came from anyone in the room. It was too loud; too abnormel; too deadly. Suddenly a cold shiver ran down my back making me scream and cry out for someone, something, anything. I want to be alone, somwhere dark, somewhere safe. My eyes open to see a woman cradling me in her arms. A man with red eyes, tan skin, and blonde hair starred at me. His eyes sunk into my head making me wince. The woman is natuarlly warm and comfortable, but her face is stained with tears mixed with blood on her, once beautiful, face. She smeared some of the blood onto my puffy cheeks with a warm beaten and calloused hand.
"You're gonna be okay," she assured me. More tears fell from her eyes. I looked closer into her grayish, I think, eyes. They had evil tucked beneath fear in them. I don't know what she means, yet her words mean the world to me at this very moment: 4 minutes ago, I was born.