It was always raining.

Not to the point where it would flood the grass, but it was still a considerable amount, where the drops were gentle but persistent, slowly soaking through clothes and filling shoes. The dark clouds, having swallowed the sun, would cast everyone in a dull gloomy shadow.

It was incredibly apt weather, perfect pathetic fallacy displayed by the author who wrote my life and set this scene.

A crowd of darkly dressed people would linger about one freshly dug grave. One person would move to the front of the crowd and speak some words before giving way to another.

The faces would all vary, some familiar and some not so familiar. Some would be choking on tears, barely getting through a sentence, and some would have blank faces and read pre-written paragraphs. It was always the same though, so after hearing it for the third time, I had pretty much memorised every word.

Like an overplayed movie, I knew every breath, cough and sniffle. Except it wasn't some shitty movie I could just skip, it was my life, or rather, the end of it.

Every night I would dream the same dream; my funeral. I would be helpless to watch everyone I loved mourn for me, even though I was right there begging them to notice me.

The first time I had woken up screaming. The frustration of not being seen or heard had bubbled up violently in my chest, forcing its way out of my mouth until I had woken myself up with my own scream. I was absolutely hysterical for the rest of the night and had eventually passed out from sheer exhaustion.

The second time, the frustration was still there, but it was much less violent. This time it had manifested in hot fat tears streaming down my face and sobs wracking my body, shaking me awake.

The third time, there was no frustration or anger, just complete and utter despair. While everyone at the funeral mourned me, I had mourned each and every one of them individually, knowing I would never see them again.

By the fourth and fifth time watching my funeral, the sobs and screams had stopped. Instead, a numbness has settled over me, drowning every thought and emotion. The gaping hole in my chest had spread, until I was completely empty of everything.

There was no more rage and despair. Just a numbing acceptance as I fell in and out of these repetitive dreams.

I wasn't sure which I preferred though.

Denial and anger had been painful, both physically and mentally exhausting me with their violence. But resignation was a cold emotion, slowly creeping into the corners of my mind until it had seized my entire being, robbing me of all feelings, both good and bad.

I truly felt like the dead girl I was supposed to be.

Today was no different.

Except it it had to be. I had to pull myself together for the day, to resemble a functioning human for a while, because I had to go outside.

Worse than that actually, I had to go to the hospital.

Would they realise that I was dead? That I died? Surely they would. They were medical professionals. They'd notice something was wrong with me.

"How are you feeling today Amani?" Sam asked, as per usual.

"Alright," I shrugged, giving my usual answer.

I was quite grateful to both Elijah and Sam. They had both given me space. I realised that they both probably had full time jobs, but at least one of them was always around. I spent most of my time in my room, only sneaking out for water and some snacks occasionally, but one of them would be sitting somewhere, always asking me how I was doing and if I needed anything.

It was awfully kind and considerate of them to do that.

The thought almost made me tear up, but I cleared my throat and walked deeper into the kitchen.

I tentatively took a seat at the table, for the first time since Sunday.

"I'm not sure if you remember, but today we have an appointment at the hospital, for your checkup?" Sam said, watching me as I settled and grabbed a waffle.

"Yes I remember," I answered, meeting her eyes. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but the gentle look she gave me was not it.

"Good, I'm glad you do. If you're not up for it, then we can always reschedule,"

The thought tempted me, but I realised that it was already a Thursday, and in a couple of days, I was expected to attend school. I figured I wasted too many days in my bed and it was time to slowly reintegrate myself back into the living world.

"Thanks for the offer but I'm okay," I assured her, giving the small smile that I could muster. She nodded in response, sipping a coffee while I ate the breakfast leftovers so graciously left out for me.

We sat in comfortable silence while I ate and while Sam drove us to the hospital. My mind was jumbled with thoughts, all of them flickering too fast for me to focus on any one individually.

I wiped my damp palms on my thighs.

The hospital waiting room was not helping with my internal crisis. It was warm and stuffy and suffocating.

"Miss Amani Rashid?" My heart jumped in my throat as I looked up at the nurse that called my name. I turned to Sam besides me.

"Do you want me to come with you? You're sixteen, so you can choose whether or not you want me present," She explained.

"I'm going to be doing some routine blood and sample work. You'll have a consultation afterwards," the nurse kindly explained.

"Can you sit with me for the first part?" I asked, holding my breath. My skin was crawling and I could not get my body to loosen up all the tense muscles.

"Of course," Sam replied. She stood up, walking besides me as we followed the nurse to a room. I let out the breath I was holding, my clenched fists finally relaxing.

I wiped my hands on my jeans again before doing as the nurse instructed.

It was quite straightforward actually, nothing like I feared. She took my weight, height, blood and even urine sample, so nothing terribly invasive or painful.

"So you're starting at the high school soon aren't you?" The nurse, Deborah, began.

"Yes I will be," I replied, sitting back down on the bed. The sheet on it made it slippery.

"That's so sweet. My niece, Jessica, is the same age as you. You're bound to meet her on Monday," she beamed. I just smiled in response, unsure of what to say

"I'll send these off. If you follow me, I'll take you to the consultation room where a doctor will see you," Deborah finished.

We both followed her out one room and down the corridor, into another where she left us.

"I'll be out in the waiting room," Sam said, squeezing my shoulder as a goodbye. Soon enough, I was left alone in the small room.

I sat on another slippery bed, being the only seat available that wasn't the one behind the desk. There was nothing remarkable about the place, the air felt quite stale, as if no one had opened the small window in a while. There was a diagram of the human body on one wall, and a stereotypical cat poster on the other.

Another minute or two passed before the door was opened and the doctor stepped in.

"Good morning, sorry to keep you waiting, I was held up with another patient." The voice was deep and smooth, something that felt so out of place in this tiny hospital room. The pleasantness of it on my ears distracted me from the words and it took my brain a few seconds too long to understand.

Oh god.

With dread coiling in my stomach, I looked up into the face of the owner of that voice.

Fuck. Me.

Gold eyes, gold hair, I was screwed.