• “You know, you can’t just pop in out of no where and tell people that they’re dead, I mean, that’s just rude! And…and it would have been a little better if you gave some sympathy to the dead people, I mean, you think that, maybe, perhaps, they’ve been having a hard time? It’s not easy to think stuff like-“
    “Your dead.” Ty cut me off. I felt the urge to slap him again, but my nerves faded me. You know how, when you know someone, they’re personality, it doesn’t matter what they look like. Say there’s someone who you think is very attractive, you walk up and start to make your move, and overhear them talking about the time they got drunk at a party and hurled some girl into the fountain in the mall. For one thing, the story doesn’t make sense, one second there at a party, the next, a mall. Another, who would want to lie about being cruel? If you look at that person again, I can guarantee they won’t be as pretty. So, Ty. He called me a pathetic little brat, yelled at me, grabbed my throat and told me I was dead. Why was he still so beautiful?

    I spun around, and stalked off, away from him, forcing my brain to function proper thoughts. To function sense…that it never really had the ability of in the first place.
    “If you where smart, you would let me explain.”
    “What?”
    He smiled, “Give me three minuets to talk.” He purposed. With a fitful sigh, I twirled around, and plopped on the ground, comfort being my last thought.
    “Three minuets, go.”

    People live until they die. That’s the simplest fact in the world. It’s true; it’s easy, and kinda funny. I don’t apply to this rule. Not really. I didn’t die of a disease, I did not die of old age, and I certainly didn’t die by natural causes. I was murdered. That means I died before I was supposed too. That means my life isn’t supposed to be over, but it is. Since I am not dead properly, I cannot advance to wherever we go after we die. (Ty has no idea either, so he couldn’t tell me what it is.) I had two options. I’d already made one. I could have rejected the fact that I was dead, (I’ll explain this further later. It’s frightening, trust me) or, accepted it. The gate. I needed to walk through the gate. I did, and now I’m put to the only use possible for a victim like me. I must do three things.

    1: Live the rest of the time I had of my life. I’m only a teenager, so unless I was supposed to die of a cancer, I’m going to be stuck here for a while.

    2: Transport the people I am assigned (by Ty) to the gate where they make there decision.

    3: Tell other victims of murder this, and help them as well as possible.

    Ty ended up sitting down as well. “What happens if you don’t go through the gate?” I asked him. A grimace crossed his features.

    If you don’t go through the gate. If you reject death, then you stay where you are. You live on the world, not communicating with anything or anyone. You are unable to touch things that have human ANYTHING on them. Warmth mainly. No one can see you. This is why shows like Ghost-hunters exist. Leave something alone for 15 years, a house, an object. If you had no human-contact for 100 years, you would want to pick up anything you found too. You would want to try and talk to people, right?

    “And, there is nothing we can do for them?” I asked, bewildered. Ty just nodded sadly. “I’ve had only one person not accept death, and I think about her constantly, I visit her, and try to talk to her, try to let her see me. It’s awful, Scarlett.”

    I’d never took the phrase, “its hell,” more seriously. What could be worse then hell not even existing to save you from this world? Nothing.