A/N: Hey guys! So it's been a while since I've written something (too long and I miss it) so I've decided to start a new story to slowly get back into my grove of writing. I know this is short but if I didn't stop it here the first chapter would be a thousand pages long. But anyways I hope you enjoy and be sure to leave constructive criticism, it helps!
All of the characters belong to (Queen) Cassandra Clare
The autumn air, cool, crisp; the scent of pine is infused through the breeze as it swept up her unruly red hair, curls, damp with sweat, cling to her freckled forehead. Her music blares through her headphones, sealing out all traces of reality, plunging her into a swirl of gravelly vocals and upbeat tempos. Her breaths come and go in short wheezes as her lung greedily take in oxygen. She runs down the cracking off-white sidewalk, her feet slapping the pavement quietly as she encircles her neighborhood, occasionally nodding her head in a greeting at a passing cyclist. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the leaves of the delicate, lush trees. She slows down to a light jog while checking both ways, up and down, the street before crossing it.
It took five seconds for it to fully happen.
One second to take a step onto the gravel of the road.
One to hear the horn pierce through her musical daydream.
One to feel pain ignite in a blaze along the right side of her body as an oncoming car rams into her.
One to fall down; warm gravel, slick with her crimson blood, biting into her cheek.
The last, despairful second to acknowledge her end.
The frequent peak displayed on the LCD monitor and the steady tempo of her breaths comforted her into remembering that she was not dead, simply in a coma. Sitting in a stiff chair she watched her crumpled body as a spirit. Her numb fingers pushed on her temples as the torturing sound of her mother's wails continue from the other side of the room. It was almost as if she was suspended here, a waiting place before she moves on to her afterlife, and as if something more powerful than she is tallying up all her good and bad deeds to decide what will become of her.
"Interesting" An amused voice spoke up from behind her. Elated to finally have someone, after days of trying, be able to see her, she whips around in the plastic chair so quickly and clumsily it nearly collapses its already flimsy legs. A tall boy, who looked a few years older than she, leaned up against the frame of the door; with hardened yet lean muscles, bronzed skin, inked up with meticulous tattoos, golden eyes that danced with arrogance, and blonde hair that should looked washed out under the hard, fluorescent lighting in the hospital yet made it appear as if there was a halo fitted on the crown of his head. Realizing she had been gazing at him for too long, though he looked used to the attention, she opened her mouth to speak,
"What's interesting?"
He chuckles, showing off a straight row of white teeth, and walks into the room "Well it's just that you humans have the ideology that gingers have no souls, by the looks of you I'd nearly believe it. And yet here we are, Clary"
Clary draws her eyebrows together, what did he mean by that? How did he know her name? And how could he see her? Who is he?
"Wow you sure know how to charm the pants right off of girls don't you? How did you know I melt at stereotyping?" She asks, sarcastically batting her eyelashes, before her real questions tumble past her lips, "Also seeing as you already know who I am, who are you? Are you in a coma too? How can you see me?"
His smile widens as he answers, "As a matter of fact I'm great with the ladies, seeing as drop dead gorgeous is everyone's type. I am Jace Herondale, also known as 'Death', 'The Grim Reaper', and 'That Fine Piece of Ass' on weekends. And no I'm not in a coma; I'm here, Ms. Clary Fray, to take your soul into your afterlife"
He stalks closer to her, like a lion trapping its prey, and unsheathes a gleaming knife.
A/N: Dun Dun Duuuuuunn cliffhanger! Thanks for reading it means a lot, I hope you found this somewhat decent