Death's Bride- Chapter 1

  “Death. What a word. Five letters that hold so much bitter-sweet anguish. People don't think about it enough I think. Today in Language Arts we finished that book about an old dog that dies right before its owner gets home. The book for once, did not shy away from pondering death. The author gave an interesting angle I haven't considered before; how death ends suffering. In that way, it almost feels merciful. But is it? I mean, in the afterlife there could be anything. No one knows for sure what comes after we no longer breathe. Is it torment, is it bliss, or is it simply lonely? Those seem to be the only optional possibilities. You either burn for your slights, are rewarded for your good deeds, or roam the earth, forever separated from the kind you once called your own. That last one feels the worst out of all of them...

But am I already a ghost? A bad luck spirit perhaps? This separation continues to plague me, yet I don't feel alone. It's almost like I'm caught between living and dead. That would be interesting. Is that what it is to be a ghost? Caught between humanity and the beyond? How would I leave that state? I mean, I'm pretty sure I am alive, considering I feel and hurt and breathe... people can see me, even if they choose to ignore me."

She sets down her pencil, taking a deep breath as a light breeze ruffles her curly ghost-like locks flowing down her back. She looks down at the damp ground with sadness in her eyes as her black irises stare back at her through the small puddle. Her delicate features scrunch up as she sniffs, looking up to gaze towards the sky. Despite wearing a light black dress with little frilly sleeves she could not feel the chill she watched the other students bundle against as they ran through the steady stream of rain. She sighs, closing and locking her black leather journal and slipping it into her dark blue book bag, picking up her lacey umbrella as she stands. The school smelled musty as always, the barely lit halls crowded with students returning to their classrooms. "Alright, one more hour. Then home." She thinks as she sinks in her back corner chair, not even bothering to pull out her notebook.

"The pattern of flight of a murder can tell you much about the upcoming forecast. Scientists believe it has something to do with the animal's instincts, however..." The teacher's voice fades to a mumbled glob in her brain as she lays her head on her hand, sighing once more. 

"That's not right, ancient traditions tell how the crows were given the power to predict the weather as a blessing from the God of storms to her suffering followers who were not prepared for flooding." Nevertheless, the lesson concludes without mention of such 'nonsense' as she knew her teacher would call it. Oh, how stifling these halls felt, even as she weaved through the crowds and dashed down the road toward home. The air felt like it was pressing in on her, threatening a new plight. Sure enough, she could hear them, or rather, him, approaching. The chortle of the boys reaches her ears as she feels a slap to her bag, spilling her things on the wet pavement.
 "Sup gloom butt?" The teasing voice chortles as she turns and glares at him before bending down to gather her things, standing again to face the small group.
 "That is still not my name." Her voice is akin to a hushed whisper, her sigh that of one blowing bubbles delicately, her expression quite stoic as she makes her statement. 
 "Yeah yeah, whatever Morana." Another boy scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Why don't you just change it to gloom butt? That would fit you better." As the boys laugh at his joke, the air dawns a sudden chill, the leaves rustling lightly on the surrounding trees. The stillness of the environment was violently met with a forceful gust of air, whipping through hair and sending loose items flying. She gasps and shields herself from the wind, holding up an arm as her other clutches her bag to her side. She could hear the yells as the boys hit the pavement, one even pairing a loud crack of bone with the cascade of thuds echoing through the air. She gives them barely a glance before jumping up and sprinting away. 
 She sighs in relief as she walks through the front door, looking around the vast and empty hallways as she heads for the stairs. Home always felt so stale and empty, like an expansive room that houses a fireplace on the mantle, yet there is no warmth to the flame and nothing on the walls but paint and despair. As she sits in her bed she pulls out her journal and opens it to a list of dates with events beside each one.

"May 16th- Gust of wind knocked over Todd and friends after they call me gloom butt." She reads over the rest of the page when she finishes writing, her mind whirling with questions as she rips it out and stands. "March 24th- Marcy spills a drink on her new dress running after me to trip me. April 2nd- Teacher slips after scolding me for reciting "stupid legends" in class. May 30th- Nancy breaks her arm after trying to take a book from me. June 7th-..." The list went on and on, filling up the entire page. She walks to her desk, pulls open a small drawer, and sets the paper on top of the pile of similar lists, all different colors and sizes of ripped-out pages dating back years to when she first learned to write. She closes the drawer and turns on her record player, sitting at her desk to continue her raven sculpture. She doesn't get to for long before a soft knock sounds at her door, creaking open as she turns in her chair to see an older woman in a maid uniform smiling at her. 

"Hello dear, there is dinner if you're hungry." The woman states in a heavily accented voice, her words full of a southern grandma's warmth.

"I'm fine, thank you." She smiles back as she watches her leave, turning back to face the window above her desk. She squints at it, making out a dark silhouette reflecting in the glass. That face, there it was again. A tall man with pale skin and a long cloak. Yet when she turned around to look around the rest of her room, no one was there. Typical. She raises an eyebrow as she turns back to her work, her eyelids beginning to droop. The world seems to go fuzzy as she rubs her eyes, barely managing to put her little project down as her head hits the desk, drifting into her usually fitful dreams.