Wayward World

By Raven

Life will always be something to remember

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Life holds memories

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Life holds happiness

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Life holds misfortune

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The world holds this life

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What happens after?


They say everyone has a place in this world. Everything happens for a reason. I never understood those sayings though or agreed with them for that matter. I bet a million tragic events occur every day, what's the reason for that? One of these tragic events being that a sixteen-year-old girl was held hostage and then murdered. That sixteen-year-old girl was me. Was my place in the world just another statistic? If it was, glad I could help.

I don't remember feeling any pain; all I really remember was a numbing feeling spreading all over my body. There was no light at the end of tunnel like people say. My spirit didn't float above my body so I could be free to do as I pleased and seek revenge. No bright light to guide me and take me away. No voice guiding me through darkness telling me that everything was going to be okay. In fact, there was no darkness. I was mildly disappointed. Here I was dead and nothing to tell me where to go.

I never even thought there was supposed to be an afterlife. I never believed in heaven or hell. Heaven was just a ridiculous idea made for those seeking salvation after all. Heaven gave meaning to people's life that hopefully after their crappy life they would have everything they wanted. Well, maybe it wasn't so bad if it did give people hope of something better in life. Still, they should know better. I did. Hell was another ridiculous idea created for the supposed "wicked." If hell and heaven were real, I could almost guarantee you everyone would go to hell. Achieving sainthood was very hard to do these days that not even all the "holy" ones could keep up. Of course, his righteousness would forgive them and all would be well, right? After all, his holiness forgives all. Wrong. If God forgave all, there would be no hell.

As I looked around me though it didn't resemble a fiery lava pit with a horned red beast telling me, "Welcome to Hell and to an Eternity of Suffering" nor did it look like I was floating on white clouds with white-winged angels telling me to enjoy myself. Instead, I found myself in a barren land with too many only that but the dirt had a tinge of crimson in it. It could have been my eyes playing tricks on me but I could have sworn that the dirt seemed to turn a deeper shade of crimson the more I stared. I frowned as I looked all around me. I think I might have preferred a greeting from the horned beast himself. I walked for what seemed like an eternity until I came upon a small brown cottage. Who was mental enough to live in the middle of a desert…or wherever I was. I stood outside out it for several minutes deciding if I should knock. Would anyone even answer?

Suddenly, I found myself questioning my death. Was I even dead? Maybe I had imagined my kidnapper taking his dagger and stabbing me with it in my chest. Not likely though, I was never one for hallucinations or even dreams. Dreams…Now there is another funny subject. I've always found it slightly amusing howI could never remember my dreams. They say everyone has them, even if you can't remember them though. I really doubted this was a dream though; this was too cruel to be unreal. I might have been dropped off in the middle of nowhere by my kidnapper. I didn't see a road though. No tire tracks either.

I wished someone else and not a creepjob kidnapper killed me. I believe his last words to me were, "You're all mine now." I would have preferred if he whispered instructions on where to go but I doubt he knew where I would actually end up.

I sighed finally deciding to knock on the cottage. As I raised my hand to knock, I noticed a light flicker on inside. I knocked twice on the door. No answer. Not even footsteps. I knocked again, after all third time's a charm right? Wrong again. I reached out to open the door and surprise, surprise it actually opened. I entered cautiously looking around the cottage for anything that might help me out. There was a small kitchen inside, which was quite dusty. The filthy cabinets were all open and empty. I guess the inhabitants weren't much for cooking--or eating for that matter. There was a small square green table in the middle of the kitchen with four orange chairs surrounding the table. Whoever decorated this place was obviously color blind and devoid of the knowledge that tables should never be green.

What really amused me though was that a black cat sitting on top of the hideous green table. It meowed as I stared at it. Its yellow-green eyes were slightly glowing, but it gave no indication whether it was vexed or content with the site of me. Was I supposed to be scared by the sight of it? After all, black cats were supposed to be signs of bad luck. I wondered if this cat had suffered a tragic death. Like me. Except it was probably death by car instead of death by dagger.

I looked to the left of the kitchen and saw a pink sofa. I cringed at the site. Who in the right mind would sit on that thing? Several wooden bookshelves stood next to the walls, which were all empty except for the lower shelf, but that was it. I didn't see any other doors beside the one that lead me outside into the rocky land.

The black cat meowed again only this time it was louder. It jumped off the table, ran past me, and stopped by the bookcase. It stared at me and meowed yet again. Maybe it was hungry? That thought soon disappeared from my mind as I looked at the bookcase and saw that it slid open to reveal another room-no not another room- another world. That was the least of my worries though as a man stood before me twirling familiar daggers in his hands. Was I going to die twice? I thought that was hardly fair.