A/N My friends and I are writing a random story together. Here is the first entry by Mahogany so please review. At the beginning of each entry we will write the pen name of the author.
Mahogany
My name is Cassidy Hawkins and at 3:50pm Pacific time, I was pronounced dead. To my family and doctors that tried to save me, it merely seemed that after spending seven days lying comatose in a hospital bed I had succumbed to an unexplained illness. A sickness that slowly sucked the rosy pink from my fair skin, stole the pulse from my still lips, and brought my eyes to a glassy haze that disguised any thinking mind or peaceful soul that resided beneath their surface.
Charge to one-hundred!
In the hours to come, I can see myself being covered by a thin white sheet that probably just came from the wash after hiding its last occupant from the wet faces of their friends and family.
Clear!
After that, I will be shelved into a wall and complete darkness. An early fitting for the size of my coffin with only thin sheets of cold metal separating me from the crying souls all around me. Above. Beneath. To the sides.
Beep beep beep beep…
In the days to come, my funeral will be held in a long green meadow interrupted by frequent headstones. They are of all different sizes and shapes. It is funny to think that families try to match the worth of the deceased with the size of their headstone. Heaven nor the graveyard frequenter does not care that they were rich. Everyone in the meadow was loved by at least one person.
Charge to two-hundred!
I would like my coffin to be light-brown. Its surface glossy and made from the type of wood that's really hard to chop through with an axe. My home will probably be layered with scarlet red roses and an assortment of other flowers whose meanings would match the occasion. Daisies would work. People always say "Pushing up daisies". I can imagine young children in their freshly washed black dresses and suits running through the isles of chairs. They are too young to understand. Death at my age of seventeen is unimaginable.
Clear!
However, my story is neither about my funeral nor my journey to heaven, though I'm sure heaven would be an interesting subject, but in order to become a spirit I must first come to peace with all troubles, burdens, secrets, and desires in my life. I have not. I have one last tale to tell anyone who will listen in hopes that they might relay what I discovered to the friends who are not present at my death.
Beep beep beep beep…
The friends who are not here with me now.
Charge to three-hundred!
The friends who could still save me.
Clear!