Kingdom Of Souls-short story

part I LIFE after DEATH


Finishing high school use to be at the top of my list. “Get it over with,” I would tell myself. Like almost every other junior at Kennedy High, I was crunching for finals. I’d pull myself out of bed at the crack of dawn, muster in some lame excuse of a breakfast, and then rush out.


My clique, was no clique. I’m more of a loner—taking it day by day. Sure I have a friend here and there, but mostly I stick to myself. Perhaps I wouldn’t be where I’m at now if I would have been with some friends. I’d be at some party, drinking it up and taking advantage of the early dismissal week at school.


How bizarre that I would have been safer at a place like that. Who would’ve guessed?


You know why vampires became highly popular in our time? Because coming across or getting attacked by a fictitious character is way cooler than simply getting attacked. I mean seriously, you’re walking in the dark and someone creeps behind you. Boo! White skin, red eyes, pointy teeth, exotic, perfect beauty—vampire. Wow.


So they do exist, I would think. And while you’re shitting bricks, you’re also psyched to witness such a phenomenon. Who doesn’t want to meet a vampire? But that’s just a scary bed time story. Or in our century, a star-crossed lovers’ tale. But I still wish I were the female character in those stories when I compare my fate to those “situations”. Because as I lay here on the dirty floor of an alley, my body beaten and my mouth tasting of only blood, with my focus slowly leaving me as my cold limbs grow weaker, fainter, I wish so bad I were either Bella, Elena, Sookie or even Buffy. But it’s not the case here. The truth is I’m alone, forgotten and frightened, and I’m dying.


I’ve experienced a near death tragedy before—my parents and I were victims of a drunk driver accident. I was eight when they died. I woke up two months later with a broken arm, concussion, and face altering bruises, all to find out that both my parents were dead. I had no relatives to take me in so I entered the system—foster care. I wish I could tell you that it’s great. That the people were very nice, and that it was the start of a long healing process or some bullshit like that. But the truth is that it was just the continuance of the worst events possible in my life.


As soon as I could work, with a school permit, I did. I saved every penny. I didn’t indulge in any luxuries like expensive clothes, CDs, IPod or whatever. I saved and proved myself worthy of adulthood at age 16—I got emancipated. I joined a government based program for young adults living on their own. I had to see a counselor two times a week and every month my parole officer would check my dorm, grades, and verify my employment to make sure it was in the legal standards.


I shared a washroom with 6 other girls and I didn’t even care. I was beginning to be happy. Beginning to get past all my horrible experiences. I had a plan and I was sticking to it—go to school, go to work, homework, go to sleep and eat somewhere in between. I had no time for play. No time for games. I needed to move on and slowly I was achieving that.


Only now it was truly over.


I’ve never been into any religious beliefs. Laying here I can’t help but think if it would’ve helped me. I remember my parents would go to church every Sunday and we were pretty happy. So maybe I was being punished by whatever force existed out there. I’m not an atheist or whatever. I just figured I’d deal with the consequences later, during resurrection. I never purposely hurt anyone, I brushed my teeth twice a day, okay sometimes twice a day. But I was a good person. I think. But now, right now, I can say I’m scared. I mean I thought I would meet my death at an old, old, age. And really, who says—“do not enter” to an old, sweet lady? But a teenager—a 21st century, goth-looking teenager? I’m not so sure anymore that my afterlife plan was all there. Perhaps I should’ve put more thought into it.


And I did say I was alone in this alley right? I ask because now I seriously think I’m either dead or crazy. Crazy is better than dead at this point so I’m indulging this. Something bright and sparkly is approaching me. And I would be seriously freaking out, only that I can’t. Because whatever it is has made me feel so relaxed and harmonious.


A sweet blissful tranquility has seized my body. Until now I was shivering. Whoever attacked me took my coat and the freezing 15degree frost was beginning to numb me in a non-comfortable way. Like when your fingers and ears are frozen and then something hits them. It’s like the cold intensifies the pain. But the numb trickle I feel right now isn’t like that because I’m beginning to get warm again. And the throbbing in my gut feels more like a far away tummy ache. And my head no longer feels compressed with pounding, ear shattering and overflowing pain, it now feels light and the headache is almost entirely gone. I also can’t taste the blood anymore. I can actually remember the last thing I drank—a cherry smoothie. And the sweet flavor is coming back to me. I can feel it on my taste-buds as if I just drank it, as if I’m still drinking it.


And now I know I’m crazy, because it’s talking to me.


“I want you to live…” Her voice is like music—soft and wonderful, like a harp.


As I look up, I see her face, pale with light pink cheeks, her eyes are a milk chocolate brown and her hair is like smooth, sculptured onyx. Her smile is so wonderful and I know now, I’ve seen her before. And then her hand reaches out toward me, there’s no way I want this lady to touch me, but somehow, I’m not afraid. I just figure that when she does touch me, I’ll die for sure.


The lady touches my forehead and when she does, I feel great. I mean I really feel great, terrific even! But I still can’t move. And instead of being outside in the freezing, stench-filled alley, I’m now surrounded by so much light, I don’t even know where I am anymore. But it’s okay because the lady’s still there, and she’s smiling.


At this point I start to think back and wonder to myself…how the hell did I even get here in the first place? Here—in the alley. But I don’t even know. I was walking back to my living building and it was dark because I got off of work late. Next thing I know someone jumped me. They beat me, took my wallet, my coat, and my shoes. Like I had much to offer. If they only knew. I cursed something awful under my breath at the creeps and the lady in front of me got this puzzled look.


“Oh…not you.” I assured her.


But she still looks sad or upset. Not mad, more like a confused frustration. And now I totally recognize who she is. And I cannot believe it.


It’s my mother.


But how? I mean she’s dead. Has been for some time now. So now the fictitious stories are creeping back like the bad cheese on the counter of the dorm’s kitchen table. The cheese everyone refuses to throw out until the culprit admits that it was them who forgot to toss it. And let me tell you…the cheese stinks!


So my mother’s face is staring at me with a miserable expression. But she doesn’t look upset with me. I guess I really am dying and her magic didn’t work, cus all my old and rotten feelings are coming back.


The pain in my body is returning. The gushy and buzzing sensations are flooding back. And if I didn’t want to die before, I swear I do now because my entire body is aflame with excruciating pain. My limbs are feeling individual pricks that never leave. In fact, as the seconds tick by, the prickling becomes more like stabbing. And like an explosion, my head reaches the point where I’m sure the creeps are back and they’re beating me again. And this time they brought bats, or steel pipes to finish me off with.


And then all is silent, my lungs are tired of yelling. There’s no more darkness, or light. The lady that looked a lot like my mom is gone and my pain is over. I don’t feel good but I don’t feel bad either so I’m wondering what the hell is going on.


And next thing I know, I’m looking at a frail body in front of me. She’s lying there motionless and I’m wondering if I should offer her some help. Her limbs look like they’re crushed and her face is beaten so badly that it’s unrecognizable. And then I realize something else.


The girl is me! I’m standing over my dead body. What the hell is going on?!


And as if I asked the question out loud, the lady is back. Clearer than before. Not as bright anymore, and yes. She’s my mother. Just like I remember her, 5’3”, beautiful, slim frame, short, black hair and soft, brown eyes. Pale with strawberry cheeks, and a smile that makes you feel wonderful no matter what.


Others are there too. People I don’t recognize, people that weren’t there before.


“You’re one of us now, my love.” She says.


“One of what?” I ask. Only I don’t sound like me—my voice sounds almost melodious and soothing.


“One of the undead. Forever roaming and now your life is on hold. Your soul gets to continue on for a second chance.”


“A second chance at what?” I ask, because all this is just ludicrous.


“A chance at life. In the other realm. Where souls live forever.” She answers.


“I don’t understand.” I find myself admitting out loud.


My mother places her hand soothingly on my shoulder then whispers, “You will. But for now we must go…”


“Where?” My confusion rises.


“To where the souls roam free,”


And like some cheesy movie, I find us walking toward an infinite light. One that beams and twinkles. And what the hell, I go with it.




~*part II coming soon.....