Honey, I'm Dead

by Beatrice Finn

Beatrice Finn is a lame girl from Georgia. A letter from her mom sends her packing and away to Oregon. She hears strange noises, has strange dreams and meets strange people. It all suddenly adds up and Beatrice realizes she is somthing else.

1. Chapter 1

Honey, I'm

Dead

BeatriceFinn Productions™

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical

Events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other

Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the

Author's imagination and any resemblance to actual events

Or locales or a person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

BEATRICEFINN PRODUCTIONS™

Honey, I'm Dead copyright © 2010 by Ashleejane Templin

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

in whole or in part in any form.

BEATRICEFINN PRODUCTIONS™ is a registered trademark.

HONEY, I'M DEAD is a trademark of Beatrice Finn.

Designed by Beatrice Finn

The text of this book was set in Cambria.

Manufactured in the United States of America

The BeatriceFinn productions edition April 2010

Honey, I'm

Dead

For the ones

I love.

Prologue

It didn't look like a letter. From the outside it was just something in the mail, something to open. A bill, a relative sending a kooky card, a dentist's check-up reminder. I didn't even look at the return address or who it was for. I just slipped my finger under the flap at the top of the envelope, struggled with the sticky tape between the flaps and yanked the paper out. It wasn't until I read the first words that I recognized the slightly sloppy writing.

Even as I realize what I've opened I realized I tripped myself up. I made a mistake. I always know how people are feeling just from the look on their faces or their body language. The way a human moves can speak to me like pure untainted English. No person is a closed book.

Maybe I should be a psychologist, that's what people that I associate with say. The few people I associate with.

I can't seem to get my niche in high school. Every school year is the same except, wait, I'm going to be a Junior this time. The cacophony of people on the first day always makes me sick. Jock, Prep, Goth, the gears of my mind are going full speed. Everyone else's minds run all the other faces they spot through their minds, know her, know him, new guy, hate her. I can practically see the thoughts flicker across their faces when their minds process me. Dislike, annoyance, indifference and even hatred.

The things that make me different from these people make them hate me. I'm smart, I use my head. I don't slack like every other 'cool' kid. I wear clothes that I can swim in and not only that but clothes that are old. Vintage. The colors are faded, the edges frayed and worn but I love them. And I have long since stopped caring what others think.

I don't care that they care that I don't 'fit in' with any group. But it's pointless. They separate themselves into groups depending on how they dress and act. Prep; jock; nerd; goth; Emo.

Which do I fit into? None of the above. So I'm an outcast, an outcast who can read every one of these types of people like the newspaper on a Sunday morning.

As I read the letter, sitting on my bed in the empty house I think about these things. For once in my life I didn't see something coming. I realize that, for once in my life, something wasn't what it seemed.