All around me.
* * *
I feel like I could lose my mind if I stay much longer in this place. I cannot hear a thing, which either means there is nothing to hear or I have turned deaf. The former option seems more realistic but it also brings the fear back. If there's nothing to hear, I'm alone again. And this time it could be permanent.
* * *
I don't know how long it's been. Days. Weeks. Months. It might have even been years, although I doubt it.
What did I do to deserve this?
Don't answer that.
* * *
It's the circle, of life....
* * *
I am so bored I could die. Ha ha, the irony.
* * *
Something grabs a hold of me. I don't even think about the idea that this is impossible because it scares the absolute shit out of me. It's grabbed at my ankle. Not a hand, more a sort of.. feeling. A force perhaps? I try to kick it away, to shake it off but it has a strong grip on me. As I'm kicking, it grabs the other leg and holds me in place. I begin to panic, try to scream. Something muffles my mouth; my lips have become numb. It snakes around my waist, tightening and tightening its already steel grip.
Please let me go.. This is the last desperate thought before I'm dragged downwards completely and swallowed whole.
* * *
Fire. I see flickering orange flames. Three bobbed heads. One dark haired, looks very familiar to me.
MELINDA! The relief and recognition surges through me with such a staggering force. I remember instantly you were the one who sent me to the darkness in the first place, but it's such a relief to not be alone, to be in the light, that I don't even consider this.
'Is she here?' one of your friends asked.
Wait a second.
You flinch, as if you know what's coming.
You're doing a freaking SEANCE?
'She's here,' you murmur, your eyes are shut.
I'm too astounded, too bewildered, to make any smart-ass comment.
'This is so cool,' someone squeals, a short red-headed girl with a smattering of freckles and bright green eyes that dance in the candlelight.
'Just ask your questions and get it over with,' you hiss, obviously very much pissed off.'
'Alena? Is this you?' the red head asks, seriously this time.
I gasp. How did she know my name? Melinda? What are you doing?
Your face remains expressionless; a blank slate. I spot something laying just behind you on the wooden flooring. A newspaper. I can see the bold heading from here.
SCHOOLGIRL KILLED IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT
Then an embarrassing photo of me in my school uniform, smiling into the camera.
Alena Marshall, sixteen year old schoolgirl from Foothill Drive in East London was the victim of a hit and run incident. She was found by a local neighbour in the early hours of Thursday morning.
I couldn't read anymore.