Death.

Living.

Dying.

So different, and yet similar. You live and you die. The beginning and the end, two opposite right next to each other if you view life as a circle. Back to back, melted into one so that sometimes you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. Each of us have been given the power to give life and take life. You must choose for yourself what you do with that power.

We are told that we have choices in our lives. Fate or God or Luck or whatever you believe in, decides what we can choose from, though. If life is a test, you have only multiple-choice answers. The answers you can choose from may be very hard to choose between. The best answer might be hidden, so you choose the wrong answer, and sometimes there IS no good answer, but you must choose one anyway, because the moment you put your pencil down the test is over. Forever. There is no re-test if you fail, no bonus marks, nothing, because you are gone.

This story is about life. It's about death. It's about living and dying and everything between. It will be short, for life is short. If you care to listen, I shall story starts out many years ago, it is the beginning for some, and nearly the end for others.

~~ "PUSH!"

"I CAN'T!"

"You MUST PUSH"

"I'm so tired."

"Listen to me Trudy, If you don't push the baby WILL die. If you do, however, we still have a chance of saving it. You must push"

The room was white. White floors, white table, white chair, white sheets, white bed, white robes and masks and gloves. White is a pure colour, the symbol of purity. There were people in the white room, for this room was in a hospital. They were all doctors and nurses except for one, a girl, barely 15. The girl's face was white as well, and blended into the pillow and walls behind her. She was drenched in sweat, and an old nurse wiped a cool cloth across the girls face. The old nurse had seen too many of these cases. A young girl having a child, when she was still a child herself. Her hips were too small and undeveloped to birth the child and it's soft head was stuck between the pelvic and hip bones. If they didn't get the child out soon it would die. It could very well have brain damage already, possibly so much that the child would never be normal, or even close to it.

15. She was only 15, and she was having a baby. Her name; Trudy. Her home; An apartment above a strip club- a strip club in which she worked. Her father; In jail. Her mother; A drug addict and an alcoholic.

That was her life. Her choices had been slim. She'd taken life's test, and she felt like she'd failed. She felt like she hadn't even gotten one question correct, as of yet, and now she had another one to make. She could choose the fate of this child. She was tired and in pain, pain a 15 year old should never have to feel, but if she could summon up the strength to push, the baby would be born. If it were born, she would have to take care of it, by herself. She had no idea who the father was, and knew that whichever guy was the father would have nothing to offer her.

"TRUDY. LISTEN. TO. ME." the Doctor said each word separately, as if it were a new sentence. His eyes, darkened with worry and frustration, burned into her as he tried to make eye contact. Trudy took a deep breath and then, slowly turned head to face him. He continued on, "Your baby is dying. You have the power to save it. You must bring it into this world."

A pang of disgust flashed inside Trudy. He had said "bring it into this world" like it was a privilege. What life would this baby be entering? One of drugs, booze, sex, filth and poverty. What a privilege! But maybe this baby would be able to escape it. Maybe she would get out, like she had been unable to do.

"Ok" she whispered, taking a grip on the bed railing.

Moments later she was pushing, with all her might. She had to give it a fighting chance. She moaned with pain, so heavy she felt like she would never live through it, and then, small and purple and drenched with blood, the doctor pulled the baby out and held it in front of Trudy. She wouldn't get to hold her yet, for the baby was in danger, but as Trudy stared up at the gooey disgusting looking baby, with two red dents in the sides of its head from her tiny hips, she felt her heart swell.

And at that moment, for the first time in her life, Trudy felt that she had gotten one of the questions on life's test right.

~~ Trudy chose life for her baby. It was her choice, her present she gave. The gift of life. Sometimes, though, life isn't seen as a gift. Life, for some, can be a burden. I will continue this story in a different place. A different place, a different family, a different life, a different least for now.

~~ The sound of rain on the tin roof of the little cabin was calming to the little baby. She lay in a simple bassinet in the modest wooden cabin-like home, asleep. Outside, a storm blew furiously and pelted heavy rain angrily, but inside the sturdy walls, all that could be heard was the 'thunk-thunk' of rain against metal.

This was her home. She lived there with her mother and father and older brother. They didn't have a lot of money, but what they lacked in the wallet, they made up for in the heart. The baby girl could sense the love in the house and she was used to it, for it was all she knew. She knew nothing of the dangers in the outside world, nor of the hardships. All she faced was happiness and love from her parents and brother.

The wooden door of the baby's room creaked open, and a woman peered in. The baby's mother. When she saw that the child was asleep, she crept in silently and peered down into the sleeping face of the child. She was so small and delicate. Tears filled the woman's eyes, as the reality hit her. She had created this- this- this life. This perfect, healthy, baby girl, had grown inside her.

The baby stirred, and the woman held her breath, not wanting to wake the baby, but the baby opened it's eyes. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at her mother, and a smile danced on her tiny lips ash her lids again closed.

What a happy baby. the woman thought to herself, and I made her.

~~ Sometimes in life things seem one way, when they really are another. It's like I said before, some things are disguised and hidden. Other things are very obvious. Certain rules are set of things you should and should not do. Some are even put into laws, but everyone knows them. Some, however, use that special power of choice to forget these rules. Again, the story moves to a different place where we can see, that not everything is as it seems and some of the most sacred rules are not only broken, but shattered into a million pieces.

~~ "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME BYTCH!"

The stench of beer radiated from the man's body- that is, if you could call him a man. His name was John and he was a coward in real men's eyes. He took his anger and fears and frustrations out on the one person who cared for him- his wife, Miranda.

He slapped Miranda across the face, causing her head to snap to the side. She let out a grunt as his palm crushed against her cheekbone and she fell against the nearby wall.

She slid down the wall slowly, tears flowing down her cheeks. It happened every day. Every day. She knew she should leave him. He was only hurting her. She'd had chances before, but something had held her back. Every day she had to wear make-up and sunglasses and turtlenecks, even when the sun beat down on the trailer they lived in and made the very walls sweat. She had been fired from her job at the restaurant for calling in sick so much, and now she was forced to stay at home, day in and day out.

Home. It was such a foul word to her now. A real home was your castle, where you live, where you feel safe, but Miranda only felt pain and fear in her 'home'.

John loomed over her, an evil grin playing against his lips. He was going to beat her and then force her to have sex with him. She couldn't stand it any longer. She was numb inside. Sobs wracked her body and he grabbed her forearm and dragged her to her feet.

With one swift blow his fist slammed into her face, breaking her nose. She cried out, but he warned her not to let the neighbours hear or she'd be dead.

Suddenly, the overwhelming urge to BE dead overcame her. She would be free from this man, the only way she could ever be free.

He drew his arm back again, this time aiming for her stomach.

"Not the stomach!!! Please." she gasped, blood flowing from her nose, ".anywhere but the stomach"

John looked at her incredulously, "You tellin' ME what I can and can't do?!" he spat, and again got ready to give her a blow in the abdomen.

"NO!" she shrieked again.

John raised his eyebrows, apart from the first time he'd hit her and she'd begged him to stop, she had never gone against what he did to her. "You give me a good reason why I shouldn't use your belly as my punchin' bag, and I might think about hitting your face instead." He gave a cool laugh and spat beside her onto the floor.

"You can't hit me because I'm pregnant, John."

~~

It's a funny thing, the way life works. It seems that the good people get the test of life that has no proper answers, and the people who don't deserve it get the easy questions with obvious answers. It doesn't seem fair, but who ever said life was fair? I was once told that "life only gives you what you can handle". I figure that it is BECAUSE the people are good, they get the difficulties and hardships in life, for they can handle it. Although, when you are facing difficulties, it doesn't seem like you can take any more and you want to give up- everything seems different when in the light of difficulties. Just as it does when things are easy.

~~ The first thing you noticed were the lawns. The houses all had immaculate lawns, mowed in designs to tease the eye. The homes in the area were all large, huge in fact, and cost huge amounts of money. Each home contained the same type of family; proper, well off, stiff people who believed that their life was the only life worth living.

All of the stately homes were occupied at that time, excepting one. The grey stone house with the corner lot and the grandest design of all mowed into it's green lawn had just been bought by a young couple. They had a new baby. The family just so happened to be arriving at their new home. The father, Charles, turned his key in the fancy lock and pushed the door open, letting his wife, Margaret, enter first carrying their new baby.

Their furniture had already been brought into the new house, and it was ready to live in. Their maid, Franchesca entered the front hall.

"Thank GOD you're here Franchesca! This baby smells simply AWFUL. Take care of it, will you?" Margaret moaned thrusting the baby towards the maid.

Franchesca nodded. "Yes ma'am" she answered quietly, and darted off towards the new nursery, baby in arms.

"Oh Charles!" Margaret said dramatically, collapsing into his arms, "Why did we have to have that thing?" She lay her head against his shoulder. She had never wanted a baby. She was too caught up in herself to worry about caring for another person. Charles had convinced her to have the baby. He was in politics, and having a family looked good to the voters. Being a good father made him more likeable to the general public, of course, he only had to be a REALLY good father in front of the public. At home he could leave the raising to the school system and his servants. The baby would, of course, be going to a boarding school during the year, leaving only a few short months and holidays for her to be at home.

"Darling, you know it is for the campaign." He kissed her hair.

"But I hate it! It's crying kept me up, and I had to put on this awful show for the nurses about how glad I was that I was taking it home! Its a wretched little thing!" she wailed.

"Shh" Charles cooed, "it's not a thing, it's a baby."

"It's a thing to me. And I hate it. I always will"

~~

A seemingly perfect family, with a seemingly perfect life. They get all of the handouts and their only 'hardship' is a baby, so pure and innocent, that they hate for no other reason than sheer selfishness. This raises the question, how long can one stay pure and innocent in a world of impurity and sin?

~~ Fire. Fire burning inside her chest, as her legs pumped, and she spun across the stage, but she didn't mind. She was doing what she loved; dancing.

It was opening night for 'Giselle', and she let her mind go and let her body dance the movements etched into her brain from months and months of endless rehearsals. She couldn't smile, but on the inside she was exploding with happiness, for she, Ana Prevost, had won the role of Giselle herself.

Maybe 'won' was the wrong term- EARNED seemed more right. As a child she excelled, the best student in the class by far. Her teacher, of course, didn't let it get to her head, for she was always working, doing more and more difficult movements and exercises. Then she had gotten her first role in a real performance- a doll on a shelf. There had been no dancing involved at all, but she, and a few other students had gotten the chance to have stage make-up and being in front of an audience. Each year after that she moved up, and up, until she had earned the role of Giselle, the role of a prima ballerina.

She knew the audience must be out there somewhere, watching her, but she didn't mind. She couldn't see them due to the blinding stage lights, and as she spun, she knew that all she had sacrificed had been worth it. She was one of the top ballerinas.

Life was finally starting to go her way. After years of living on welfare, she had a nice home, a wonderful boyfriend, her dream she was pregnant. Although she wasn't married, both she and her boyfriend Liam had been very happy.

It was the second act and in this act Giselle was dead and had become a Wilis. She was dancing opposite Yvan Auzely and Luc Bouy.

Suddenly, something went wrong. She missed a step and her right leg stayed behind as her left leg kept going forward. He ankle twisted around and with a sharp snap, a pain shot up her leg. She cried out, and a wave exclamation went trough the audience. As if in slow motion, she fell forward in a graceful movement that was almost ironic. She was such a graceful woman and dancer, that even when she was shot down she looked beautiful and artistic.

She crashed against the hard stage, her face bouncing off of the cool surface. Again, she cried out, this time more loudly and painfully, but this pain hadn't come from her leg. It had come from her stomach when she crashed onto the floor.

Members of the audience were standing up by this time and the orchestra had screeched to a halt. Swiftly the curtain closed, and moments later, Liam had rushed by her side.

Tears streamed down her face, "The baby." she moaned.

"Ana! My Ana!" Liam gasped and sat beside her. He held her in his arms and looked to a man who was standing watching, " What are you doing?! Why aren't you calling an ambulance!" he yelled, and then lowering his voice he turned his attention back to Ana, "Everything will be alright, my love" he whispered into her hair, "Everything will be alright."

~~ Sometimes dreams are shattered in an instant. One horrid twist of fate- or in this case a twist of an ankle- and a life takes a different direction. We feel like our life has been stolen from us, but when did we ever OWN our lives? When did we begin to feel that we, each of us, deserved happiness? Life is not a right. It is a privilege. You are not entitled happiness. It is a gift. Some of us never get that gift- others just can't figure out how to open the box.

*** "G'night Sharon"

"Night"

"Oh! Sharon! Wait!"

"Hmm?"

"I have something. For the new baby."

A grey haired plump woman held out a gift-wrapped box towards a tired looking woman. The tired looking woman smiled weakly, "Thanks Mama" she said softly, and took the box, "You know you didn't have to."

The old woman waved a hand. "And YOU know I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't wanted to." Her name, no one really knew her name. Everyone just called her Mama. She ran the Diner on Fifth Avenue and although it wasn't the nicest looking place, it was always packed with people, because the food was, as Mama put it, "Good home cooking. None of that plastic fast food crap". The other woman was named Sharon. She was a waitress at Mama's Diner and she had just gotten the job a few weeks ago. Mama had taken her under her wing, because she liked Sharon. Sharon reminded Mama of herself when she was young, and when Mama took care of you, she took care of you. Sharon had a new baby at home, so Mama would often send food home with Sharon to feed herself and her husband, because she knew that money was tight and the two adults would probably go without food to feed their baby.

"I'm going to miss the bus if I don't get going. Thanks again for the present Mama." Sharon said, pushing open the glass door. The jangle of the bell atop the door was both Sharon's most hated sound and favourite. She hated it because when it rang the first time, it meant she still had the entire night to work away, but the second time meant she could go home to her husband and baby and relax for about two hours until the baby woke up and needed feeding.

Sharon glanced at her watch as she walked briskly down the sidewalk. 1:24 AM. She had about six minutes to get to the bus stop, so she'd have to walk fast, but that wasn't a problem. She always walked fast to the bus stop, for Fifth Avenue wasn't a very good place for a young woman to be at one o'clock in the morning. There were a lot of bad people lurking around, and Sharon always got the creeps and felt like she was being watched.

Tonight was no different. The same uneasy feeling sat in the pit of her stomach like a stone and she kept her eyes down to the ground. She always had to cut through one alley to get to the stop. It was directly on the other side, but it was her least favourite part of the walk.

Turning into the darkened alley she glanced around. Ahead of her she could see the bus stop under the yellowish glow of a streetlight. She felt safe in that light, but here in the dark alley she felt scared.

crunch

Sharon's breath caught in her throat. She thought she had heard footsteps in the trash. She speed up a little. She could still see the light in front of her. If she could reach the light she'd feel much better. She'd probably been imagining the noise anyway.

Prrrrt

A rock rolled in the darkness.

No.

She was pretty sure she hadn't imagined it that time. Despite her better judgements she glanced behind her, and there walking briskly towards her, was a thickly muscled man. From what she could see in the small amount of light, he was dirty, very dirty.

She told herself not to get too worked up. Maybe he was heading to the bus stop as well. Just because he was dirty didn't mean he was going to hurt her.

Still, she walked faster. She heard him speed up behind her too. She was almost there. Almost in the light, on the street where someone might help her. She broke into a run, and felt him do the same. She let out a scream, but it was muted as he pushed her to the ground from behind.

He laughed maniacally and flipped her over with his foot. "Hey pretty lady," he breathed. He barred a knife that caught the light and flashed.

Sharon whimpered and was about to scream, but he put a hand over her mouth. "I wouldn't scream if I were you," he said.

She looked up at him with terrified eyes. He smelled awful and she had scraped her arms and knees and hands when he'd pushed her down.

"If I take my hand away, do you promise not to scream?" he asked. Sharon nodded, to frightened to do anything against his will. "Cross your pretty little heart?" she nodded again, "and die?" Sharon sobbed once beneath his hand, but nodded. He lifted his hand away.

"Pleas don't hurt me." she whispered, "I have a little baby at ." she reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, "I have 's more than a hundred dollars don't hurt me."

The man narrowed his eyes and plucked the money from her hand, and for one glorious moment Sharon thought he was going to let her go. "I'll take the money," he told her, "but that's not what I really want."

"W-wh-what is it that you do- you do you want?" she asked, wishing almost instantly she hadn't.

He leaned close to her and whispered "I want you, pretty lady"

~~ Again we come back to the facts. Life and Death. Power to give and the power to take. For someone who has never killed another it is nearly impossible to know the feeling . What do you feel when you have ended everything that someone is in this life? If we go back to life's test, it is like someone tore the pencil from your hands and ripped up the test into a thousand meaningless pieces on the ground. All through our life most of us worry about making the correct choices, but in the end, when the test is over, is someone really going to look over the test and scrutinise it? Are they going to mark you on how well you did? Probably not. For most of us the test is personal. We are the only ones keeping most of us.

~~ "Come on. Stand up. Come on."

"Bob, he's only seven months, you can't force him to walk!"

"Listen Sara, he's my kid. My kid is better than the rest. That baby book you got says babies start walking 'round nine months, right? Mine's gonna walk at seven. Come on. Get up."

Bob and Sara lived in a pretty normal house in a pretty normal town. This might have been what spurred Bob on to trying to get his child to be different. Better than normal. He wanted his baby to be top of the class when her grew. He would be on all the sports teams, of course, and he would probably hit it off with the girls. After all it was HIS child!

"GET UP YOU STUPID BABY" he yelled in the small child's face.

The baby looked shocked for a moment. It's eyes grew wider and his lip quivered. All at once he burst into an ear-piercing wail that penetrated the walls of the house and wracked his little body so hard he looked as if he may shatter.

"Bob! Don't yell at him!" Sara cried. Bob paid no attention to her. He picked up the baby under the armpits and frustratedly stood him up. The little baby continued to screech, for he had no idea what was going on. Bob grabbed the baby's hands and tried to push him forward. The baby's legs, being so weak from crying, crumpled beneath him and he fell onto his stomach.

Sara rushed over and grabbed the baby off the floor, "What in the HELL are you thinking!?" she rocked the baby back and forth in her arms, "Sometimes, Bob, you can be a real ass you know? He's just a baby, a tiny helpless baby. You need to stop this right now. You aren't going to bully him around for his whole life. He can't be the best at everything!! He can only TRY HIS BEST! SOMETHING YOU DON'T DO VERY WELL!"

The baby, who had stopped crying momentarily, began to wail again as his mother screamed.

"Just SHUT UP for once Sara. SHUT THE HELL UP!" Bob's face went purple with anger.

Sarah drew in a breath. She had been fighting with a thought for a long time. She hadn't wanted it to come down to it. She wanted it to work for their baby, but she couldn't handle it any longer. "I want a divorce Bob." She whispered.

Bob's jaw dropped. He wanted to scream, but could find nothing to say. For the first time in his life he was at a loss for words. How could she want a divorce? He was better than everyone else. No one was better than he.

Maybe he wasn't good enough. Maybe he needed to push his day was passed. He was old he had left was his son.

And then an idea hit Bob as he looked at his wife cradling the now silent baby. His son. His son could be even better than he'd planned. Near perfect! Then his son would have the best life. Bob would look better then Sara would look stupid for divorcing him. Yes. His child would be perfect as a child could be.

He would have it that way.

~~ The line between genius and insanity is thin. So thin, in fact, it sometimes isn't there at all. The difference between these to things is almost as blurred as that of life and death. Sometimes the ones who look normal are truly the ones who are mad, and the ones who seem mad are . I have talked much of the 'gifts' of life. One of these 'gifts' is being smart. Can you imagine being so smart that your mind is exploding with thought ever moment of the day. Sleep doesn't come, for your brain never sleeps. You can never live, because you can't understand the minds of others unlike you. Everybody believes you are maybe you are. You believe life itself is out to get you, and that gets you stuck in a hospital by doctors. But the doctors don't understand- life IS out to get at the 'gift' it gave you.

~~ The walls of the room were squishy. They would cushion anyone who ran into it. There was a camera in the corner of the room, because one of the things about being in this place was that you were never alone. Never. Sometimes it wasn't only cameras and doctors who kept you company, though. If it was there would be no need to be there. It was the voices. They were always there.

Especially for Pam.

Pam had one of the highest IQ's in the world, and all it had counted for was a padded room, a few voices and a small white cot. Her world was that room. The sky was the grey roof. The sun was the camera. The grass was the soft floor. She was both the king, and the people of that world and the doctor was God.

It had been a long time since she had known anything else.

Once she had been in the outside world., but that was long ago. Many, many years. So long, in fact, she couldn't remember it.

"161251195.851216.135."she muttered to herself. She sat on the cot in the room. Soon the doctor would come. Her darkened and circled eyes burned into the doorway. He would come soon.

"161251195.851216.135."

Pam the doctor is coming

He's outside the door now

The door pushed open, and the doctor walked in. His stark white coat stood out against the off-white walls.

"They said you were coming..161251195.851216.135."

"Who said, Pam?" the doctor asked, knowing she wouldn't answer. Every day this happened. Every day he asked, and every day she answered the same numbers.

"161251195.851216.135."

"Pam, I have your medicine. Will you be a good girl and take them or do we have to get the men in here?"

Pam's face contorted with fear. They got angry when she took the medicine. They hurt her.

Don't let him give them to you Pam

Tell him to stay away. We'll hurt you Pam. You know we will

She began so scream, "161251195!!!851216!!!135!!!" she wailed. "161251195.851216.135.".

"Fine," the doctor said over her screaming, "The men will come then."

Don't take them.

Don't take them Pam.

Moments later male nurses rushed in. They were both large and strong. No matter how much of a fight Pam put up, they always won. They always ended up giving her the medicine.

The Doctor exited the room, shaking his head. She'd become much worse incident. A nurse passing by stopped, a worried expression on her face. "Poor girl." she said to the Doctor, who had a pained expression upon his face.

"Did with ?" he asked her, and she nodded grimly.

"Yes," she told him, "we found people to adopt Pam's baby."

~~ Each of these stories was different. Each of these people were different. They had different personalities and dreams and pasts and futures. They had one thing in common, though. Children. They all had children. Children are our future, and in this case, it is where we continue the tale. Soon, these stories that seemed so different at one time, will intertwine and become maybe they already have begun to do so.

So far I have controlled this story. I have separated it, and given my own opinions. Whether this made the tales clearer or merely added to your confusion, I cannot say, for I do not know... I will leave you here, for I have made this story unnatural. Life cannot be controlled as I have been doing.

We follow these babies, Chloe, Eve, Bethany, Brie, Liv, Riley, Kurt and Megan through many years. Now they are teenagers. Each has his or her own struggle. Some are alone- some will find each other. Some will find help- some will not.

I cannot say I can't break the you will find out in will they.