My name is Sydney Lewder, such an ugly name. I think I’m thirteen years old, but I’m not sure. I don’t live in the world anymore, instead I’m in the middle, between Angel and Imp. I don’t really want to be here but there is no other choice. There is no one here, so I write, day in and day out. I don’t even know how I got this pencil and piece of paper. My hand doesn’t hurt, for I can’t feel anything. It’s weird, it’s as if I’m…paralyzed. Paralyzed of all my stress, troubles, pain, sorrow, depression. It’s kind of hard to explain.
The last thing I remember was a sharp, shiny, object and then, a white blank; I didn’t know where I was, how I got there, or even when. At first I thought I was in heaven, but I am far away from of being in heaven. I’m actually in the middle. They are having trouble deciding where I should go. I’ve done many wrongs and even some sins, but I’ve done some good too. I’ve given food to the homeless, bought them beer only because they wanted some and gave money to a blind guy in the streets. I’ve always loved to give, even as a child, but the one thing I hated was to share. Amazing right, either I was going to give or not give at all?
I’m not even sure how long I’ve been here. I don’t eat, sleep, drink, or get a feeling of time anymore. I feel like I forget a memory every day? Minute? Second? I don’t even know. All I know is that someone attacked me when I was at the parking lot, with a knife, or was it a gun? I forgot, I feel so, so, I’m not sure. Wow, I can’t even remember how I died. I can’t feel it, but know I should feel ashamed right now. I want to cry but I’ve run out of tears. I want live again, but I don’t get a second chance.
To be Continued:
