I've never really cared about what happened to me after I'd die... Most people preached that my "soul" would be sent to a realm of peace if I lived correctly. Others that I would spend eternity bound in a fiery inferno. And then there were those who believed that a place of infinite was my place of "rest"...
I didn't believe any of it...
As I look back on those days that I had grown, lived, and laughed with, I imagine, and strain, to recall and hold on to every detail. I burn the sound of my mother's croon into my mind, right beside my brothers' laughter, or my sister's whine. I regret my attitude, and actions every day further in my existence, and I have lost count of the nights that I have fallen unconscious to the saltwater staining my face and swelling my eyes...
But that's too far ahead, isn't it..?
You don't even know me, and you're even less likely to care...
But for the sake of whatever sanity I may posses, let's list off a few facts...
My name is Natasha Wolfe...
I died when I was 18 years old...
I was reborn as a child in this strange place two years ago...
I don't belong in this strange world...
And I'm in love with a pack of criminals...