I stared at myself in the mirror. Big brown eyes stared back. I felt so weird, trapped in a staring game with myself. My hair dripped down my naked back and across my shoulder, down my breasts. I stood still and I stared.

I was killed yesterday. I fell down the stairs and I snapped my neck. I was killed yesterday yet here I am, having a battle with myself, alive, breathing. I took a breath in an out, savoring the sweat breath. I breathed as much as possible, savored every intake of oxygen while I still could. While I always could. Just imagining not having to breath gave me the shivers. Imaging being one of them, a vampire, made me sick. It was bad enough just being what I was, whatever that was. Cursed, maybe. Definitely. Yes. I was definitely cursed.

My eyes shifted to my neck, my reflection copying, and together the stranger in the mirror and myself stared at the ugly bruise half way up my neck. It would be gone by tomorrow. I always had a mark on the spot that killed me. Every time.

I lifted a hand, the girl in the mirror copying, and we touched the tender area, both of us wincing. Oh, what was I? What sick monster snapped their neck almost clean in half and woke up in bed the next morning? What beast has died hundreds of thousands of times, lived countless life times and still remained the same, unfamiliar face.

I stared at myself. I was beautiful and I hated it. I hated knowing it. Why couldn't I go back to when I was a child, to when there were no mirrors and to thinking I was ugly. Why couldn't I be self conscious anymore? Oh yes, because I have lived so long to know the reaction of men around me, know how they see me and want to do with me. Want me to do to them.

I wished I was still self conscious and naïve and clueless. But I wasn't because no one could be thousands of years old and still be just as dumb.

The stranger in the mirror stared straight back at me, brown eyes empty.

What vile, vile things I have seen. What hatred and pain, terror and reality. What impossible, splendid things, what pleasure and happiness, and depression and anguish. So familiar to me now, so easy to ignore and block.

I looked away from that thing in the mirror and grabbed the towel from the hook on the wall, gently wrapping it around m body and open the door. The steam rushed out, and the cold air blew in, sending Goosebumps charging up my arms. I stepped into the hallway, to my room, where I pulled clothes on.

It was Charlie's idea to go to school again. He said they may have new teaching techniques here. Maybe someone would teach me something I already didn't know. I've been to medical school, I remind him, ten times already. I do not tell him I went just to know exactly every way humanly possible to kill myself. I just try to prove a point. Charlie is persuasive though. And so I wake up this morning, 6:30 sharp, and I shower. I hear Charlie downstairs. He is such a dear friend to me. It worries me when he goes out every morning, defends this shit hole of a town. He can die, unlike me. If he is shot in the head, he does not wake up in some random place five minutes later, gasping for breath and having a scar on his temple. No, he would be dead as a door nail. I would have to bury him like so many other past friends. But I let Charlie be, because I know how much he loves the job.

I walk downstairs, pulling on some sneakers once I each the bottom. Charlie gave me a truck yesterday. By far the ugliest thing I have ever seen, but still, I almost cry when he gave it to me. No one ever cares enough anymore to do anything like that. No one in a long, long time.

I enter the kitchen and am met with a frantic Charlie, desperately throwing a pan of fire under a stream of water in the sink. I rush over to help.

"Charlie," I say, smiling, once the fire had gone out and the smoke had cleared enough. "I think I should handle the cooking for a little while."

He bursts into hearty, embarrassed laughter and agrees.

"Do you have eggs?" I ask, moving to the fridge.

"Yes, they're on the counter. That's actually what I was attempting to make before they caught on fire." I hold back my laugh and take the pain out of the sink and scrape the charred remains of his egg of before placing it on the stove.

"What time are you going to be home tonight?" I ask him, cracking an egg onto the pan. It sizzles and bubbles and instantly smells good.

"Sometime around 6, I'm pretty sure. Probably earlier if it's slow."

"Charlie, it's always slow." I remind him, laughing.

I finish his egg and hand it to him on a paper plate before grabbing the backpack I bought in town yesterday.

"You're not eating?" Charlie asks. "You really should, Bella."

"I know, I'm not really hungry though." I say, shrugging the straps onto my shoulders. "I promise I'll eat extra at lunch though."

Charlie crinkles his eyebrows. concerned, and I laugh. He's so caring, it's quite surprising. I walk over to him and hug him, despite myself. "Thank you, Charlie." I whisper into his neck, and after the shock wears off, he hugs me back.

"Anytime, Bella, anytime."

And then I'm leaving, fighting with the truck to turn on and then fighting with it to stay on the road and then fighting with it not to stall when I stop at the stop sign before the parking lot. It seems to collapse off rather than shut off when I turn the keys, but hey, I made it in one piece.

I step out of the truck and look at the school in front of me. Its small, separated into even smaller buildings. It's cute though, which I like. And smaller schools have always been my preference. The big ones tend to have more of the jock types who like to pretend they can get me in bed in half a second. Small town people seem to have a better taste of reality.

And so I shoulder my bag once more and lock the truck before I make the journey to the main office to grab my classes.

And yet again, I have entered another life. I died yesterday, and I was reborn today. And already I'm going to school.

Life's a bitch, and I sure as hell know that better than anyone?