It didn't hurt, at first, if she was being completely honest. If she really tried, she could almost convince herself nothing had happened. It was only a daydream. A nightmare. An engine had just backfired in the parking lot. Right?
The fact her body was falling forward limply was only a hallucination. The people screaming her name—or just screaming in general—were just the results of ringing in her ears from yawning too hard. The bullet hadn't really hit her, had it? Because the blood wasn't really soaking through her clothes, pooling on the shiny linoleum under her, was it?
Her eyes weren't just staring upward. They were darting around, searching. Everything seemed to happen so slowly. Her brother was kneeling above her, worry and fear covering the entirety of his face, mostly converging in those oceans for eyes. Ocean, indeed—there were already tears dripping down his cheeks. Already, though, she could see how those eyes were going to dull, how dark circles were going to form from lack of sleep, how his lips would never pull into a mischievous grin around her again. But . . . she was still breathing, wasn't she? Her chest rising up and down? Her heart still beating?
His mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear anything—just the blood rushing in her ears. She wasn't quite sure what would happen if she tried to speak. Would she be too loud? Too quiet? Would this bubble of shock pop and pain flood her?
All her life, she'd been fine with the thought of dying. She had never really been afraid of Death taking her by the hand and leading her towards the afterlife. That, however, had been under the assumption she was going to die peacefully, old, after a full life of happiness.
Not at the age of seventeen, in a hole-in-the-wall diner, with a bullet lodged in her left lung.
Now that she was faced with the thought of leaving her family, her friends, her life, she found she didn't want to die. She didn't want to die. Why have that thought now? Why make everything that much harder?
She had to try and speak. Just one last time—she would never forgive herself if she didn't try, even if it meant this hazy bubble would burst, that everything would come rushing in at once, that her slow death would suddenly become very, very painful.
So, the girl attempted to take a breath, wincing as a small streak of pain shot through her ribs and forced her gaze to settle on her brother, however hard it was. He'd always been there for her, especially when their parents had died. Car crash, pretty cliché—but no one ever thinks that could happen to them until it did. Just like she never thought someone would come to their small town, to this tiny diner hardly anyone knew about, and just start shooting.
She needed to get back on track—the shock was making it hard to think. Or maybe it was blood loss.
"B-Bryan," She choked out, voice gurgling in her throat. She was grateful for the hazy fog covering her mind, even if it caused her words to slur horribly. "Bryan, I-I—"
Bryan hushed her gently, one hand cupping her cheek. "Save your strength, Kat. The paramedics are coming, they're almost here."
She sagged, trying to tell him with her eyes that she knew they wouldn't get here in time, that she was more than likely going to die before they even managed to reach the building. If she was lucky (or unlucky, depending on how one saw it), she'd get to the ambulance before she gave out. She was dying either way, and she'd really rather not drag it out.
"No," She mumbled, vision blurring. Was she crying? Or was it time? This soon? She had to tell him. Just—just that, and she'd go. Willingly. She didn't care anymore. Just stop the pain! "I—I love you." Her voice was slurring to the point her words were hardly recognizable, but Bryan seemed to understand. She could see his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs as he ran his thumb over her cheek. She felt something wet smear across her skin.
So she was crying.
Her face was numbing, as well as the rest of her body. It was almost time. I don't want to go.
"I love you too, Kat," Bryan whispered. "Don't cry. Ok? You—you'll be in a better place, painless. You'll get to see Mom and Dad again. Don't wait for me, all right? I might be a few decades late to the party, I've still got a ton of things to do. Tell them . . ." He swallowed thickly. "Tell them I said hi, though, ok?"
Kat hummed softly (well, as much as she could with blood pooling in her mouth and trickling down the corners of her lips), keeping her eyes on Bryan. She committed his face to memory again before closing her eyes, exhaling quietly and shuddering. She didn't breathe in again.
Darkness surrounded her, pressing in, deafening, suffocating. It was impossible to tell if she was standing up, sitting down, floating, spinning, or just existing. Right now, she felt like a mere thought, a single feeling, and that scared her. She didn't know how to react to this. She didn't know what to do, or what to expect.
And Kat hated not knowing.
Something wrapped around her, slightly less suffocating than the everlasting darkness, and while it did nothing to push it away, she felt as though maybe, somewhere, there was a light she could reach for, a path to venture up to the final part of her life. Death.
She was dead; that was one thought she could not shake no matter how much she might have liked to forget. This, though, wasn't how she imagined it to be. She thought it would have been more like a forest, an old, well-trodden path, or a stone road through an abandoned town no living soul had set eyes on. This darkness, it was boring. It was scary.
She could have been there for seconds, days, lifetimes, and she'd never know. Not even the whispers growing clearer around her, louder, until she couldn't make anything out were a clue of how long she'd spent here.
The voices, though . . . .
Come to me, they crooned, spreading around her like a fine mist, a warm breath on a freezing day. Come with us. We can give you everything. Anything you have ever wanted.
She couldn't deny the fact that she had been tempted. To have everything she ever wanted? It sounded like a good deal to her. She found herself reaching towards the sound, the difference in her surroundings, the way out of this seemingly God-forsaken place, but then hesitation pushed through. Those voices, they sounded intoxicating. Smoke wreathing around a drug addict, the high fogging their mind, the alcohol whirling in their veins, slurring words and shortening tempers.
The voices, they sounded too good to be true. They sounded like everything her mother had warned her against. Every dark thing humanity had to offer, every man-made thing gone wrong, even nature's attempt at poisoning the parasite leeching her life, getting rid of the pests that infected her home.
So she shrank back from those voices, waved away the mist, attempting to move away from the offers, the temptations, wanting to scream just to drown them out.
She wanted out of there, even if it meant vanishing forever. She wanted away from the voices, away from the intoxicating temptation, away from the growing sounds, away from the screeched demands for her to take it and love it and the increasing anger whipping around her, shoving her to and fro, squeezing tightly and threatening to rip her very soul to shreds—to leave nothing behind.
A harsh ringing started up, drowning out the voices and causing her to flinch—or she would have, had she occupied a body at the time—and whirl around desperately, trying to get away from everything it was too much at once she didn't like she—
The silence was a welcome relief for all of three seconds (two days? Five years?) before that, too, was deafening, and she was left in confusion. What did she want? Silence or sounds?
Well—at least this silence felt warmer, more approachable, more welcome. Deafening as it was, it didn't make her feel impossibly small.
You have done well. This voice, unlike the others, was crystal clear. It felt older, it was larger, and it felt comforting like the warmth of a fireplace, wrapping her in warmth. She felt like she was hugging . . . .
She should know who she was hugging. She didn't, but they still felt incredibly safe. Did it really matter, as long as she knew that?
She squinted when she saw light, impossibly bright in the dark. It was pure white, and as it grew larger, blocking out the darkness, she felt she might go blind. Though . . . she felt like she had a body, now. Just—incorporeal. See through. Barely there.
But it was there and she had one.
Through the bright light, Kat could have sworn she saw a face smiling down at her, looking so very familiar and ancient and, at the same time, a complete stranger. She stared up at them, eyes wide, before she eventually had to close her eyes. She didn't want to lose her sight.
When she opened them again, she was surrounded by metal.
Let's take another crack at this, shall we? I've been gone for...almost three years now, right? I graduated high school, attempted college, and now I work two jobs so I can move into my own apartment. My life has been nonstop crazy for the past two years, including but not limited to moving across the country twice. I just want to say, WhiteWing, you are a guest that commented on my story last year and gave me an idea that pretty much kicked me off my ass. This is the first time in two years I've actually been excited to try and write a story again. If you have an account I'd love it if you could reach out to me so I can personally thank you. I think I might actually have a plot for this story once it flies off the rails of the movies. Here's hoping, right?
Either way, you can find me on Instagram under starlightseller, where I am way more active, and on Ao3 under the same name as here, where I might actually cross-post this story. I'm debating still. If you were here when I first posted this story let me know! I'll give you a special thanks for (hopefully) not giving up on me, haha. I'm reading comments from 2016 and I feel super bad. I'm just hoping I'll actually be able to continue writing this story.
I'm hoping this prologue is a tad bit better written, but what are the chances? I basically read a comment at 8pm and have been writing since then (it's two am right now). You'd think I learn, right?
I'm still accepting ideas for directions to take this story though! I'll definitely credit you when I decide to implement your idea, and may actually ask for your advice when writing scenes!
Take care y'all!