Chapter Two, Part 1

Please read the prologue, and Chapter One, parts 1 and 2 before you read this, if you haven't already. Thanks!

Chapter Two ~ A Life of Ease

I blinked, stopped brushing mid-stroke. Long, bleached-blonde hair? Not likely!

But I looked at the image in the mirror, and familiar eyes blinked back at me. My eyes, but lined in coal-black smudge, fringed with thick fake lashes and a small glued-on rhinestone next to each eye. I stared at them as they stared at me.

Where am I? How did I get here and am I going to a Halloween party or something? Never have I been so confused, but a flicker in the mirror reminded me – I died! This is my new life. Life-path, or whatever. This can’t be right. I looked around; Death was nowhere to be seen. I sat alone in what clearly could NOT be my life. Sure, this girl resembled me, but Whoa! Whose body is this?

I’ve never been fat, but this body put the “real” me to shame. I wore a skintight miniskirt and the smallest shirt I’ve owned since elementary school, but it sure did show off my fantastic abs. Perfect tone, not an ounce of fat, all tan – Tan! I have never been this tan! I also had never worn these colors, or so few clothes. I started to look around, trying to get my bearings and figure out what and where I was.

The first thing to catch my eye – two shiny perfect honest-to-goodness golden Grammy statuettes. I won a Grammy? Two? I ran eagerly over to them, “Best New Artist” and “Best Female Vocals”! I hated to set them down, but needed more information. All around me were photos of a rock star I slowly realized was me. Me, in front of a band, dressed much like I am. Me on the red carpet at the Grammies, me with various celebrities, me at concerts and one poster size album cover with my face splashed across it. Garish!

“Nettie Rags” I read, and it dawned on me that it was a shortened version of my name, but I couldn’t decide if I found it cute or dumb. I located a copy of the CD with the same cover, checked the song titles. Nothing I remembered writing; titles that hardly sounded like my style.

“Lick Me Once??? Ewwwww!!” But on the inside cover, “all lyrics by Nettie Rags”. I read the lyrics I’d supposedly written. Ugh, really? Oh no, I couldn’t have written that trash! Horrible rhymes about sex and drinking and doing what?? I don’t even know what that means!

I sat down at the vanity with the CD in one hand and looked over the case. For the first time I really looked at the room. This room, apparently my bedroom, could have held most of my old apartment. Shiny new technology glittered from every corner, and the rich dark colors of the room suited my tastes perfectly. As I fixed my gaze on various objects, vague pictures began to form in my mind. I must be starting to get some memories. A stuffed dog in the corner, a man gave that to me. His name was . . . is . . .uh . . . it’s on the tip of my tongue, it’s . . .

The falsely melodious ringing of a cell phone broke my concentration. It’s an odd feeling to not know if the ringing in your bedroom is your phone. I followed the sound to what could only be the very latest cell phone. I almost answered it, but thought better of it. I didn’t recognize the number and I still really didn’t know this me. I’d just say something stupid, make a fool of myself. The sound ended, as though my thought had killed it in my hand.

Standing alone in my unfamiliar room, holding the silenced phone, seeing me who isn’t me in the mirror, I longed for anything familiar and comfortable. Anything, anyone. I realized my eyes had closed, and I thought with all my might DEATH!!! Death, are you here? Hello? I don’t even know where here is!

Scared, confused, and surprisingly tired, I started sobbing. I’m generally not one to cry – it always comes off as so manipulative and useless, but I’d reached the end of my rope. I felt Death arrive before I actually saw him.

“Because this is your first alternate life-path, I choose to help you.” Who would have believed that one could feel such utter relief at seeing Death by your bed?

“Thank you, thank you.” I sniffled, trying futilely to stop the tears. A million questions rammed into each other in my head but none could find its way out of my mouth. Fortunately, I didn’t need to voice one.

“It is the same day and time you left.”which explains why I’m so tired, it must be after 2 a.m. “This is your room and your house, though when you arrive on a new life-path, that will not always be the case. Look for little clues to tell you about this path.”

“I know I’m a singer and I have two Grammies!” Exhausted and befuddled as I was, that still brought a smile to my face.

“Yes. Lovely.” Death is not impressed with awards, “You will probably also want to look for clues to more relevant things, like who is important to you in this life-path. No life-path is without strife, what are this life’s travails? You may take as long as you like to decide, but the longer you are in the life, the further down each path you move. As I told you, memories of this life-path will begin to grow.”

“Michael! That bear over there, a man gave it to me and his name is Michael. Oh, I think I loved him. Do I still? Are we dating?”

“I cannot tell you more than I have. Learn to discover things quickly. If you choose to leave this life-path, make the decision and tell the mirror. I will always hear what you say to the mirror. I will not always come when you call.”

“Thank you for coming this time. I, just. . . . I think I need to go to sleep.”

“I do not believe that is an option. Farewell.” Before I could ask what that meant, Death vanished, leaving not even a hint of his essence behind. It’s an option if I say it is. Now, where are my jammies?

I’d managed to root through 4 dresser drawers before finally finding something comfortable enough to sleep in. Seems in this life-path, I mostly sleep in trashy negligees or perhaps nothing at all. I pulled on what I could only guess were my workout clothes and began to climb into my ridiculously large bed when the cell phone started up again. Thoughtlessly I picked it up.

“Uh, hello?”

“Nettie, where are you? We’ve been waiting 45 minutes!” I knew that voice. A man. Not that Michael, I just sort of knew, but someone I talk to a lot.

“Waiting?” I hated to sound stupid, but couldn’t formulate any better response.

“Oh, hellfire, are you back on the stuff? Look, I’ve been sitting in front of your house in the car making excuses to the TV people for an hour and I know you’re walking around in there, I’ve seen you go by the window.” The voice belonged to . . . Victor! That’s his name. That guy that’s seen me in the bars a few times; said he’s an agent – he could make me rich. I guess he did. That didn’t explain why he was waiting for me this time of night, and for 45 minutes. Back on the stuff? The TV people? None of it meant a thing to me.

“I, uh, I’ve been, uh, getting sick!” I tried not to sound too triumphant – what a lame excuse, but the best I could do at the moment. I made the vilest retching noises I could manage. “Must have been some bad shrimp for dinner.”

“Oh, honey, tell me about it. Where’s Adrian?” That name evoked a very clear picture, my assistant. Oh no, is he here?

“No, it’s his night off.” The words popped out of my mouth before I consciously formed the answer.

“Poor, dear, I’ll cover for you with the TV people, just get better. Want me to send up Francesca?” His voice grated down my spine; the fake caring wrapped in self-concern. Instinctively I knew that he cared more about me as an investment than a person. And since I had no idea who Francesca was, I certainly didn’t want her around.

“No, thanks so much, Victor, but” I stopped to make more puking noises, “I think I’ll take a shower and hit the sack.” After a few more pleasantries, Victor rushed off. I peeked out the window in time to watch a long black car ooze carefully out of the gates at the edge of my driveway.

As I hung up the phone, I noticed the time – 11:32 pm. Again I felt the confusion becoming so familiar to me. Death said I arrived at the same time I’d looked at the display so long it had gone dark and changed twice when I finally figured out the answer – Pacific Time – I’m on the West Coast! Sounds so obvious in retrospect but when you’ve died, found yourself in a different you and it’s really 2 am, well, things aren’t as clear.

The bedroom boasted four closed doors, I couldn’t imagine what they might be. The first revealed a long door-lined hallway – intimidated, I closed it again. The second held a closet, larger than my car and organized like department store. I half-expected to see a check out counter. The third one was another closet, smaller, but all shoes. Well, that does seem like me, I decided, admiring the shelves lined with varying styles and colors, every height of heel and every material conceivable. Now this is a life!! I resisted the urge to take out armfuls of them and start trying them on. The last door led to a cavernous bathroom, which I gratefully stepped into.

Along the far wall a tub you could almost call a wading pool stood beneath a lovely frosted window. Beside it a glass door showed off a shower stall, large enough to hold a regular tub, and boasting a seat and at least 5 showerheads I could see from the entrance. I’d heard the term water-closet somewhere along the line, and so that’s what I decided the stall with the toilet must be. Two sinks lounged in a counter longer than I am tall, among a scattered selection of cosmetics, creams, a hairdryer, curling iron and a few appliances I didn’t recognize. “Takes a lot of stuff to look this good, I guess,” I said out loud, enjoying the faint echo.

I treated myself to a long, steamy bath, having found a book in my bedroom and some lovely scented bath beads. I could have used a cup of tea, but still couldn’t work up the courage to enter that daunting hallway in search of a kitchen. After the bath, I slipped into the bed and fell instantly into the deepest of sleeps. If I dreamt, I don’t remember.

Chapter One, part 2

This is the second half of Chapter One. If you haven't, please read the Prologue and the first half before you go on. Thanks!

I stood still for several long moments. I tried to convince myself that it had been a hallucination, perhaps brought on by toner-mixed-with-soap fumes, but in the deepest part of my soul, I knew it was not. Nothing had ever been so real in my life. Beside the sure knowledge I had indeed seen and heard what I just saw and heard, something else lay in my soul. Fear. Cold, hard, abject terror. We will meet again. The words echoed through me, and as terrifying as they were, they kept the bigger fear at bay - are you ready for your life to end?

Butchy had the computer fixed. How had I gotten back to my desk? Oh, I sort of remembered walking. He apologized; I nodded. The reports were printing out. People were waiting for their reports. I got back to work.

I went home. Took off my shoes, and headed up the stairs to change into sweats. As I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, I caught my reflection in the mirror.

Death was behind me. Again.

It hung before me moving and remaining exactly in place.

“You’re Death?” I repeated, for what had to be the tenth time. I began to formulate my arguments, almost hoping that I could free myself of this horror with logic and debate. “But how can you be Death? Death isn’t a person or a being or whatever, it’s a state. You can’t be Death. You can be dead, but not death. Just like you can be sleeping, but you can’t be Sleep.” I felt better, making my case. Somehow it brought measure of normalcy to the moment. Arguing, I am in my element.

It shimmered, almost happily. “How little you know, mortal. There is Sleep. And Love, and Faith and Hope. There is Joy and Pain and Sickness, Imagination, Pestilence, Fear, Cold, Calm, and many more.”

“So, what you’re all like some gang of magical beings? Just hanging around watching over your own domain? What if someone is supposed to be dying, right now? And here you are, floating in my bedroom, trying to scare me? Yeah, that makes sense.”

“FOOLISH MORTAL!” The words echoed around and through me. Never had the meaning of “mortal” been so real. “Cease this prattle. I am not here to scare you like some child’s ghost tale. I am here for your benefit, that you may choose to end this life.” I shook, dreading what would happen. My bravado now gone, I sank to the floor, and found tears on my cheeks.

“Please, I’m sorry. I don’t want to die”. I blubbered, hating the pathetic sound of my begging for a life I had been cursing for months. I could feel energy ebbing from me; somehow I knew Death was absorbing me and once I was drained I would be dead. Then, the energy pull slowed and stopped. Death shimmered in a way I could only say was by some means comforting, though I will never be able to say how.

“You misunderstand, child.” It said, beginning to change form. Before me stood a man, tall and strong looking, with a bit of a glow. When I looked at his eyes, I saw the constantly changing indescribable colors of the being that had been in his place. “Is this form more soothing?” He asked, in a voice I could truly hear, though somehow it still echoed though me as the being’s thoughts had. “I find humans to be more at ease with other humans, and, if you like, I can even assume the form of a loved one.” A thought of my beloved grandfather, my mother’s father who had passed away years before flitted though my head, and then he stood before me.

“Papa!” I called out my name for him, knowing what I saw was only his form, but unable to restrain my voice. “How did you know?” I asked him. In Papa’s voice the being answered, “You were thinking of him. You loved and trusted him.”
My fear momentarily forgotten I asked, “You can do that? Just go into my head and see what I am thinking?”

“I am Death.” That seemed to cover it. He went on to explain. “When dealing with mortals, I have found it is frequently easier to take an image from their minds than to let them see my form. You are one of few who has.” Despite the inherent bizarreness of the situation, I found myself flattered. It sounded like an honor.

“I, I think I would prefer your other form.” Papa standing there, this many years after his death was just too disconcerting. Not really him, but so much him, it hurt my heart.

He reverted to the amorphous, semi-transparent manifestation. “I am here not to bring you harm, but to offer you a choice. The choice”, he said, “is so easily explained, so hard to comprehend. Is this life worth saving, the life composed of the choices you have made, and perhaps a few made for you? I am offering you the chance to follow one or more of the paths not taken. The only problem is, it is a one-way road. Once the choice is made, it cannot be unmade. If you give up this life-path, then it is gone, and you cannot come back. You will die in this line of reality – but you have the opportunity to find something more.”

I stared, not able to grasp the meaning of this offer. I could die and be something else? Like reincarnation? I wasn’t that attached to much in this life, my one good friend, my dad. Who else would miss me, who else would care? Would anyone even notice until their reports weren’t there? Or even then? But dying? I don’t know about that.

Dying’s a scary prospect and never more real than when you face it - Death literally in the room.

“I . .. I don’t think I understand.” True, but also a stall for time. “You mean, come back as a baby and start all over? I don’t think I want to live through high school again – once was bad enough.” Death shimmered and changed colors, a little pinker on the edges, which I took to be a sort of chuckle; even Death knows how bad high school can be.

“No, in fact, you will not lose a day – not even a moment. You will not even lose your memory of this life, unless you choose for me to erase it. Each person makes millions of decisions in a lifetime. Each decision moves you to a new life-path, and the old one is forever gone. Some choices create many paths, and they can lead you in unexpected directions. You will die in this life and arrive at the same age, to the minute, in a life-path you lost when you made one decision. The longer you stay in that life-path, the more of those memories you will gain and the more they will feel real. You may even be able to figure out which decision you made differently. But no one else will have any memory of any other life, only you. And you can stay in that life-path as long as you like. If you dislike it, you can die again and start the process all over. You can sample as many of your own life-paths as you like, though remember, you cannot go back once you have left it. You are being offered a chance few mortals ever dream of. It is not even a hard choice. It is simply this – is this life worth living?”
The words rolled over and through me, almost too much to take in. A chance at another life that was still mine? To still be me, but to choose another, almost certainly better life? I looked at (and through) Death, wondering if I’d somehow created an elaborate hallucination to escape the drudgery my life had become. I was almost ready to jump in, hallucination or not, I still had one more question.
“Will it hurt, when I die?”

Death was silent for a long moment, and I could feel his scrutiny of me as clearly as I could see his form floating.

“That is the only concern you have, mortal?” The question sounded cold, somehow almost sarcastic.

“Well, no, I mean, I have lots of questions, that is just the first one.” I thought furiously, hoping my lie was not too evident. What else did he expect me to ask? The pain of dying seemed like the biggest deal I could think of. And then another thought began to percolate in my almost overwhelmed mind. “My dad, what about my dad?”

“What about him?” He asked, almost derisively. “I thought you wanted to know if it would hurt you.”

“I want to know what will happen to my father? Will he think I am dead?”

“Well, since you will be dead, in this reality, yes. He will think it, and be right.”

“But he’ll be crushed!” The picture of Dad, sitting alone at the table on a Monday, our usual night for dinner together, tore at my heart. If I die, he’ll have lost both mom and me. Of course, he’ll still have her and the children he had with her.

The moment stretched out an eternity while I thought of Dad. Dad, who had always been there for me, trying to be both parents to a small girl. He’d never had sisters, or any close female friends, and yet he had played Barbie and dress up and tea party with me when I was little. He’d been a PTO volunteer even though most of the others were women. He had taken me to get my nails and hair done before prom since I didn’t want her to take me and even managed to stammer his way through the “sex talk” when I was 11. And yet he had always told me that he wanted what was best for me. That he wanted me to have whatever I dreamed. And now, I could dream of another life. And I will have a chance most people don’t – to say goodbye, knowing it will be the last time. I won’t have to leave all the things unsaid like so many people do. I can say it all, wrap up all the loose ends.

I realized I’d been standing silent, staring for what must have been a very long time. I still hadn’t decided whether or not Death could actually read my mind, but I’d made my choice. This life sucked and I was ready to try again, even at the expense of my father’s feelings. He would want me to, I was sure. Dad would want me to have a better life.

“What do I have to do?” It almost sounded like a statement when I said it.

“You have decided?”

“Yes, I want a new life.”

“Life-path.”

“Right. I want a new life-path.”

“It will begin soon. Go about your business.” And Death was gone.

“Um, hello? Death?” I asked the air. No response. “Go about my business? I don’t get it. Don’t you have to do something? Schedule a time to kill me or something?” Ugh, that doesn’t sound good. “I mean, do a spell?” Still nothing.

Maybe I had just conjured the whole thing up in my head. Maybe I was asleep having an elaborate dream. “WAKE UP!!” I yelled, just to see if that would work. It would have in the movies. But nothing changed. I shrugged and went to the kitchen, “going about my business” as instructed.
* * *
After dinner, a couple of good stiff drinks and a large bowl of ice cream, the whole day seemed less plausible. Surely I had just had some sort of breakdown under the stress of my awful job. I should take a few days off, I thought, maybe I’ll just call off tomorrow, take a mental health day. I got up to get more ice cream, but the carton was empty, sitting on the counter where I’d left it when I got the last bowl. Oh yeah, ran out. I decided I needed more and went to get my shoes and keys.

When I bent over to tie my shoes, I wobbled and almost fell over. Too much to drink? Nah, just getting old. Only had a couple. Chuckling at my clumsiness, I grabbed the keys and my purse and headed out to the car.
At the end of my block, there’s a stop sign. I ran it. I know it’s there; I usually stop, but I was really intent on the ice cream. I was trying to decide what flavor I was going to get when I realized there was a car turning towards me. I swerved, going a little too fast, and as I started to sail from my seat, my last thought was “Hunh, I usually put my seatbelt on.” And then my head collided with the windshield and the world became dark, except my brief glimpse of Death.
And then I was sitting at a vanity, brushing my long, bleached-blonde hair.

Wait, what?

Chapter One, part 1

If you haven't read the prologue, please go here and start with that.

Chapter One ~ A Life Worth Living

First, a little about me. My name is Lynnette Ragasmort. Awful name, I know. I'm 27 (and a half) years old, and I’m a singer. Or, maybe I should say I want to be a professional singer. I have a boring day job, but at night I sing anywhere I can. I write and play all my own stuff, on my poor battered guitar that was a gift for my 10th birthday. Soon, I hope to be able to afford a nicer one.

My songs are kind of folkish, just me and my guitar telling the truth, and that is just something that people don't want to hear right now. The pop stuff on the radio is so far from what I do, I couldn't sing it even if I wanted to, and I sure am not going to dress like some of the harlots who do sing it. So I play here and there, and a few people like me enough to let me play their bars or local festivals or whatever.

I have one close, true friend, Karen, my roommate from college. Most other people are too sensitive or something. I am opinionated, and I have no qualms about sharing my observations. Too many people just want to make small talk or "chit-chat" which I hate. Karen understands, and Karen listens.

I have no husband, and no boyfriend at the moment, though I have had my share of dalliances. I like men, but again, too many are turned off by my forthright attitude. And always, they want me to be dependant, and I am not dependant; I refuse to be. I need no one but me.

My family, such as it is, consists of my father, his awful wife and their children. My mother died from complications due to my birth, leaving me an only child to be raised by my dad. I loved him and everything was great until he met Shelly. I told him from the first time I met her, when I was twelve, that I did not and would not ever like her, yet he insisted on marrying her when I was 13, halving my importance in his life. And worse, unforgivably, they had children, one when I was 15, one when I was 18. Suddenly my dad had a new family, and I knew he no longer needed me.

I have blondish, brownish hair, brown eyes and skin the color of the “flesh” crayon they used to make. Average, normal, boring.

BUT, onto my story:
I was sitting at my desk, printing pages and pages of reports, as I do all day every day at the world's most boring job. I print reports all day, and carry them around to the various people who are supposed to receive them, who sometimes throw the report I give them in the trash before I even leave their office. Sales reports, productivity reports, personnel reports. All day long I update, reformat, print and deliver reports. I get a half hour lunch, which I usually take at my desk, anyway, since the closest place to get lunch is a 10-minute walk. I hate the people here, I hate this company and I hate my job, but since I am a singer who hasn't made it yet, this is what I do. I'm the "report girl" as the obnoxious salesmen generally refer to me, at a company that sells plastic that other people make into stuff.

But I digress, as I said, I was sitting at my desk printing reports. The one being printed was 8 pages, and the copier, not the latest model by far, was slowly chugging out page 2. Three other reports were waiting the queue, and I had to go to the bathroom. So, I rushed past the nosy office manager, who always wants to talk and slid into the bathroom. There are only 3 stalls, and all were empty, so I chose the closest one; I heard they are the cleanest.

I did my business and was washing my hands, when, as usual, even though I didn’t want to, I glanced up in the mirror and thought I saw something behind me move. Just a little flash of something, and I whirled around, wet, soapy hands up, ready to fight the monster. But nothing was there, of course, nothing ever is. I rinsed my hands and dried them, studiously avoiding eye contact with the mirror. I headed back to my desk.

Needless to say, the printer had jammed in my absence, and I spent the next 10 minutes wrestling crumpled bits of Sales Report A-2, pages 4 and 5 from its clutches. Having ascertained that all the little pieces were free, and the printer was cooled down, I started it up again. One more page printed out, before it informed me that it was out of ink. I knew that couldn't be the case, because I had replaced the ink cartridge the day before. I fiddled with it, tried it again, and finally called the IT guy, Butchy.

Butchy hates people. I can't really blame him - the only time people here talk to him is when something breaks, so all he ever hears are complaints. Maybe he hates people because they call him "Butchy”; I sure would. But that is how he was introduced to me, and I don't even know what his real name is. I have found that he can be funny, with a quick sarcastic wit that rarely shows. To me, anyone who disdains the general public and hates this company is a comrade in arms.

Butchy lumbered up to my desk, panting. He's a big guy, which I am guessing comes from sitting around all day at his desk, playing computer games and waiting to be complained to.

"What's the problem, Lynette?" He huffed at me, glaring as though I had purposely messed up the machine so as to interrupt him. I have a theory that working here makes people less pleasant. Perhaps he hasn't recognized our comrade status.

"The printer says that it is out of ink, but . . ."

"So put a new cartridge in!" His eyes rolled so far I feared they'd pop out.

"BUT", I continued, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice, "I changed the cartridge yesterday before I left, and I've only printed about 20 pages. It had jammed right before that, so I thought that might have something to do with it." I rushed to get all of that out before I was interrupted again, and was rewarded with a grunt and the almost obscene slogan on the back of Butchy's T-shirt as he began fidgeting with the stubborn printer. I leaned against the wall of my cubicle, while he made an adjustment, tried to print, and began the process over again. After several unsuccessful attempts, he began taking pieces of it out and setting them on my desk, which is when my boss arrived and my phone rang simultaneously.

I mumbled an "excuse me" to my boss since the red button on the phone indicated an internal call. Someone missing a report? I picked it up - "This is Lynette, can you hold a moment please?" A male voice said yes and I set the phone back down and looked expectantly at Mrs. Cooper, my boss.

"Lynette, what is going on here?" She demanded, making a sweeping gesture to my desk. "People are waiting for their reports". In my head, my response went something like and that is exactly why I broke the printer you old bat! but, putting on my sweetest smile, I replied, "Butchy is fixing my printer" as any idiot can see!

"Hmph. Well. Try to keep this sort of thing to a minimum." She stalked away, before I could ask her exactly how I would keep the printer from breaking, since it was more than 7 years old and "there isn't room in the budget for such things". Butchy actually chuckled. I grinned ruefully, and said "Guess I'll have to do my 'printer health voodoo dance' tonight." He laughed again, and it made me feel a little better.

The feeling lasted about 15 seconds, because that was when he gave some piece of the printer a nice hard tug, and it broke with a sharp crack! Toner flew everywhere, especially all down my dress. Damn it!If only I hadn't answered the phone, I'd've been on the other side of the desk! Which reminded me, I hadn't picked up that poor guy I'd put on hold. The button still flashed, and knowing that a few more minutes wouldn't help my dress that much anyway, I grabbed the receiver and tried to keep a calm voice.

“I am sorry to have kept you on hold, how can I help you?” I tried wiping some of the toner up with a tissue from the box on my desk.

“Ah, Lynette, " the unfamiliar voice said, "I can see you're busy, I'll talk to you later." There was a click before I could disagree. Well, he's right, I thought and turned to head to the ladies room. Butchy offered what seemed like a sincere apology. I accepted, and started on my way.

Halfway there (just past the office manager's desk) I stopped cold. That man said he could see I was busy? But no one can see into my cubicle, I am at the very back, in a corner. The cubicle across from me, the only one someone could see into mine from without standing on a desk, was empty, filled with broken chairs and discarded computer pieces. Maybe he meant, he could tell I was busy. That made sense. But it still bothered me.

Assessing the damage in the privacy of the ladies room, I could see that no hope remained for this dress. Most of the front was now black, in an irregular, shimmering blob that still oozed a bit around the edges, growing slightly larger as I watched. Futile though it was, I grabbed a fistful of paper towels and mopped at it, succeeding only in removing the shininess, and leaving a dull, wet black spot.

My luck, in came Jeanie, the nosy office manager. She clucked and sympathetically asked, “Oh my, what happened to you?”

“Just a printer problem, Jeanie.” I scrubbed harder at the stain, wishing both it and she would just vanish.

“Well, you know, soda water works on red wine, or is that white? And I heard salt gets out stains, but I don’t really know about that. I use one of those spray-ons, myself, but, honey, I think that may not do it in this case. So, where you filling the ink or something?”

“No, Butchy was fixing it and something broke.”

“Well, Butchy isn’t the most graceful thing, is he?” She actually snorted in the middle of her snide chortle. “But he means well, the poor thing. He might get some self confidence if he went on a date now and then, but you know those computer geeks . . .” Her voice faded under my annoyed frown.

She must have taken the hint, because she went into a stall. When she emerged, she asked, “Do you want help with that?” I looked up. Ready to answer in my normal sarcastic way, but saw the sincerity on her face on swallowed my words.

“No, thanks, I think it’s a lost cause. I’m just going to wait in here until it’s at least dry.”

“Okay, then, sorry.” Jeanie walked out the door. And something in the mirror flashed. I looked up – nothing, again. Giving up with a resigned sigh I looked into the mirror to assess the damage.

This time there was something behind me.
Definitely something. Something large and transparent but with every color mixed in. It was moving, not going anywhere, just a fluid, natural flowing inside its constantly changing borders. I stared at it for a moment, before deciding that it had to be some sort of trick of the light, a reflection from the toner or something caught in the light fixture. I spun around to look behind me, hoping nothing was there, but somehow knowing it would be and when I did see it, hovering before me, I could feel my heart drop. I was trembling, not sure why I should be scared, except that nothing that appears in the mirror behind you can ever be good.

The thing itself didn’t frighten me as much as the fact that I could feel it. Every part of me could sense the presence of this ominous being. It pulled at me, drained something vital and indescribable from me, and I thought for a moment that I might faint. I wanted to touch it, but I couldn’t summon the strength, or maybe I was just too scared.

It spoke. A sound vibrating through me, coming not from the apparition, but from everywhere.

“Lynnette”. Just my name, and it terrified me as nothing had. There was no denying now that it was real, not some trick of the light. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I just stared, and trembled and vaguely wondered what would happen if someone came in.

“Are you ready for your life to end?” Not threatening. Just calm, matter-of-fact. I could barely process the words. When I did, cold calm dread filled me, and I stopped shaking. I could only assume that I was too terrified to even feel the fear any more. It was an emotion beyond the human ability to sense.

“What?” Not the most ingenious reply, I know, but it was the only word I could form.

“You must decide if you are ready for your life to end. We will meet again, and then you will decide.” The being flickered out of existence and left me alone, covered in toner, in a well lit ladies room.

The Beginning

This story doesn't have a title yet, so we're just going to start with the Prologue. Here's the deal - I have this and the first chapter written and ready to go, but I don't know where the story is heading, really. So, if after reading this you want more, comment and let me know.

Prologue - It Begins
Death has always stalked me in mirrors. If I have learned one thing from horror movies, it's that you never, never look into a mirror after dark, or if you're home alone and something creepy has happened, or if you're in a public bathroom and no one is around. That's when the person or thing bringing your death appears. Either right when you look, or as soon as you turn around after looking. So, for as long as I have been watching scary movies and TV shows, I've seen death in the mirror, every time. Little hints of unexplained movements, shadows that don't look right, a flicker of something that doesn't belong. And then, there's nothing and I go on with my life, the incident forgotten in moments, until the next time I see a mirror, and death is there.

I guess that is why, when I actually did see death coming for me in the mirror, I wasn't surprised. Scared as hell, but not surprised. Death has always been in the mirror.

But let's go back a little, and catch up~


did I catch your interest? Want more? Comment and let me know