• My name is Marilyn Hill, I'm 8 years old, and I'm dead. I know it probably sounds weird, but really it's not. I was alive, and now I'm dead. I don't really remember when I was alive. Sometimes I doubt that my heart once beat. For as long as I can remember, I've just... existed. I'm in a place called the Afterlife. Basically, everyone who's died comes here, to one day be sent back as a different person. My mom once called it reincarnation. But I don't like it here. I've been here for a very long time.

    The afterlife isn't a nice place. There are scary people here. People with awful injuries and tales of how they died. I mostly stay here, in my room. It's pretty cold in my room, but there aren't any blankets. It's dark here too, but theres no need to see in your room, as there isn't anything to see. It's been the same four walls for three years.

    That means it's been three years since I died. I fell into a river, I think. I can only rember waking up in the afterlife gasping and choking. Ever since then, it's been a little hard to breath the heavy air here. Everything is in shades of gray. There's little use for colour. No one needs it. No one needs anything, but to get out of here, of our own little purgatory. We aren't in hell, or heaven. We just are.

    Sometimes, if I concentrate long enough, I can hear things. A whispered lullabye, recalled after 8 years of hearing it. A kind word from my mother, who I miss very much. She hasn't come to the afterlife yet. Maybe I'll see her one day. Maybe I'll be out, who knows. Time has no footholds here. Seconds slip by in convulsive jerks, hours taking a lifetime to pass.

    Anyway. Maybe I'll see you around here sometime. Say hello if you find me.