It was eleven o'clock at night. The house was silent, and mostly dark, but for the exception of the small study-turned-bedroom, where a young girl still sat at her desk, printing words neatly into her diary. She had a very pretty hand.

I hate it, she wrote, I hate the world's injustice and unfairness and pain. I hate the falsity and all the careless cruelty. Everyone seems to be fools or hypocrites or cynics who laugh at the world, and without exception, all are blind.

How can we live in a world of such darkness? How can anyone bear to survive on the little goodness in this world, when there is so much bad? I-

She stopped, appeared too overcome by emotion to continue, or perhaps her thoughts were too fast for her pen to keep up. She pushed the diary away, bit her lip, and looked down at the surface of the desk in silence.

She was a girl who might be called normal, or unusual. Born to well-educated parents, she had had the chance to travel the world at an early age. England, France, Germany, Holland, many countries had been called her home. She was rather pretty, very intelligent, and inexplicably cynical. She hated the world because of what she had seen, rather than wonder at its beauty. She discovered the defects of human nature and defects of the human race, despaired of the blind masses, and refused to forgive their stupidity. But she was a quiet girl, and a kind girl, and though she could not be called popular, she never gave any reason to be disliked. And when she was not alone, she could be lively, making great use of her wit and sarcastic tongue. But she was often alone, with busy parents, and no siblings. On this very night, she was alone. Her father was not returned, and her mother fast asleep.

She was seized by the sudden urge to go out, at once. This idea excited her. Her parents loved her, and protected her well, and at the age of fourteen, she had never been further than a 20 minute walk from her home by herself. She did not plan to go far. She did not even plan to wander. There was a Macdonald's near her home, and she could go sit there for a while. It would be safe enough. It wasn't far, and she couldn't sleep. Yes, she would go now, and be returned before her mother awoke, and no one would be any wiser. Secrets always had such a charm.

She got up, put on a jacket, took the keys, and quietly left the house. The neighbourhood, ever a quiet one, was peaceful. She put her hands in her pockets, and observed little as she walked the familiar path. She never noticed much, when there were no people to engage her attention. She rounded a corner, and Macdonald's came into sight at the other side of the street, its lights inviting. The little man at the crossing was red, but no car was likely to cross at such a time of night. She walked across, giving a slight glance to the left and right. No car. She returned her attention to her own thoughts, and continued walking.

It happened very fast. She had barely seen the light, heard the noise, before the car was on her, and she was too astonished to use the millisecond before she was under its wheels to scream. A great pain followed, and then she knew nothing, nothing at all.

It so happened that the driver who had run her down was her own father, driving home. It so happened that he had been so slack at his driving that he had crushed his daughter under his car's merciless wheels. The girl was desperately rushed to the hospital, but it was no use. She was cold by the time she had gotten there.

For a while, she knew nothing, nothing at all. It was like sleep. But eventually, she grew sensible to a light, growing and growing until she could really stand it no longer and raised a hand to cover her eyes.

"Oh, you're awake, then," an unfamiliar voice announced cheerfully.

Ah. Someone was speaking to her. So she hadn't died, had she? Well, that was fortunate. She peeked through her fingers, and saw a stranger, a very beautiful man with golden hair and golden eyes which made her think of Carlisle Cullen.

"Hello," she said experimentally.

"You just died," the man told her as cheerfully as before.

She forgot about the light. Her hands dropped, and she stared at the man in aghast.

"What?"

"Yes, it does come as a bit of a shock to some. Especially the ones who haven't enjoyed a particularly long life, like you," the man said sympathetically.

The girl shook her head. She was dead? Just like that? Getting run over by a car? What an amazingly disappointing way to die. Well, but she had always wondered what happened after you die. She had, of course, like any fellow creature, contemplated suicide, but had decided that it was ridiculous. She was very glad to find that there was an existence after death after all.

"So what happens now?" She asked.

"Well-" the man began. A loud sound of a ringing bell sounded in the distance, and the man was distracted, looking towards the noise.

"Look, I have to go for a moment," he said apologetically, "stay here until I get back, okay?"

He disappeared before she could reply.

She shrugged, and looked around. She seemed to be sitting upon nothingness. There is no humanly word to describe absolutely nothing, so I won't try. It was a strange thing. It was solid though, and she knew she was sitting on it. On each side there was still nothing, except one. On her left, there seemed to be a strange black hole of white light. It was very interesting and had an inexplicable attraction, and before she knew what she was doing she was on her feet and advancing towards it. In a moment she stood in front of it, wondering. Was this the porthole to heaven? There was probably some activation mechnism, or the like. She wanted very much to take another step. She told herself it was a bad idea, but couldn't resist reaching a hand forward and seeing how it looked bathing in the white light. Unconciously, she moved a little closer.

"HEY!"

She jumped, and swivelled round, but she did it too fast and overbalanced, and then she was falling into the white light behind her, and the man seemed horrified, he came after her, stretching out his hand, but he didn't seem to dare reaching it into the light, and she fell, and fell, and fell.

At first the feeling of freefall only terrified her, and she was convinced that she had done something terribly wrong and was going straight to hell. But then she wouldn't stop falling, and she enjoyed the freefall instead. She twisted and turned and did loops, and laughed loudly because no one could hear. But then she was silent, because she was a quiet girl. After a while, she realised the white had turned to black, and she was swimming. If this was hell, it was rather mild. But after a long time, she acknowledged the wisdom of it, for with such blackness and nothing else, the inmates would undoubtedly go mad from boredom. She slept a lot. She could not tell whether the black or the white had lasted longer. But then she realised something. She was growing bigger. She thought of this with confusion for quite some time before she remembered something. The water. The darkness. The growing. She was a baby. She had been reincarnated. And she must have done something wrong, because she still remembered every single detail of her previous life. Damn, she couldn't even die right.

But this, meant that she had amusement. She could fantasize about her future parents and wonder what they would be like. She wondered about her nationality, her appearance, her family-in short, everything that a baby could want to know. She didn't like the thought though. Baby. She was not a baby, she was a fourteen year old. But she had enough time to resign herself to the fact. Nine months. She had no idea how much time had already been passed, and spent her time growing, swimming, thinking, and, when she grew big enough, kicking her mother. After a long, long time, she had an idea that she was going to be born soon, for she was very big now, and the darkness was getting uncomfortably cramped. Sure as could be, she started turning. Very helpful to her own life was the fact that she was able to stop the cord from getting tangled around her limbs. She had no idea how long she had to turn, only when she stopped. And then she did everything she could to attempt to shove the cushion above her head.

Her efforts finally, finally had a result. The cushion gave. The reader shall be spared the icky detail of the process of her being born, and let's just say that she was, with full and complete limbs, and a lot of blood. It suddenly made her very sick to remember that she had spent nine months in someone's vagina, even if that someone was her mother.

To her surprise, she was spared the white light and headache of a hospital operation room. In fact, it was dimly lit, so she could look around herself quite comfortably. Her heart sank. It appeared that she had been given the comfort of being born in the middle ages. The walls were made of stone, for god's sake. To express her great displeasure, she opened her mouth, and began to wail.