Death Is My BFFLAD (Book Two Original Series)

Chapter 13: Death by Nightmare

Vote? (It's chapter 13! Oh crap!) Listen to the amazing song to the right and take deep breaths while you read this chapter

~The apple of your eye, the rotten CORE INSIDE. ~We are all prisioners, things couldn't get much worse. ~I've had it up to here, you know your end is near! ~Intoxated eyes no longer lift that light. ~You think you've won this fight? You've only lost your mind! ~Hold me down. (I'll live again.) Pull me out! (I'll break you.) Hold me now. (Better in the end.)

~HEAVEN. HELP. YOU!!!!!!!!!!!

<3

*****************************************************************

 

Cupcake,

If you're reading this, I stole your underwear. It had little watermelons on it encase you were wondering. Speaking of underwear and bitchy females who stick crosses on their door, have you ever tried to get a cross out of a house? It's easy? Well picture yourself damned to earth and try and do it.

I'll put my little break in Spanish terms, Tu casa es mi casa...your house is my house. So yes, I took all your--I mean my licorice by your--I mean my bed, and yes, I'm the one that took the last few ham slices in OUR fridge for the ride home and that pack of unopened double-stuffed Oreos.

By the way, those soft turtle pajama bottoms you were wearing while you were sleeping? Very sexy

Not that I checked...

-D

P.S- I've been thinking about it, and all you have to do is say the word and I'll totes come over to cuddle. I've been told I can be a little suffocating in that particular position, if you know what I mean of course.

That was the letter I found in my bedroom at approximately 9:00at night, after the strangest dreams I had faced, signed with the massive, and unique signature of Death himself. It was an exaggerated line that swooped down to the left, then a curve that gracefully swept across the line and curved into a 'U', before practically running off the page ina sprint. In summary, it was graceful, sharp, yet I could seriously picture him stabbing the page as he signed it.

Why was I even paying attention to his unique cursive? Death...as in the Grim Reaper, the Angel of Death, the guy who takes souls and torments, was leaving me teasing notes about stealing my underwear and 'totes' cuddling. But seriously, 'totes'? That man was getting too attached to text lingos.

I had been through that day, therapy, being late for work, dealing with a arrogant jerk, quitting, etcetera, and completely sarcastically, that little piece of paper behind my dresser about Death stealing my favorite underwear was just the cherry on top.

I figured it was written a while ago, since it was practically covered in a layer of dust, and I wondered why I had never seen it. I also knew it was older because I noticed a different tone in Death. He seemed more, immature? I wasn't quite sure as I read over it. Something told me the letter wasn't too old, maybe a few weeks at most, but it made a difference. His handwriting wasn't sloppy like I wished it would be, but was neat and in cursive. The familiarity of it made me role my eyes because he had secretly written me numerous post-its around the house and I had gotten use to them. But recently? He hadn't been writing any.

The first thing that irked me, was the fact that as I was reading the letter, I kept getting side tracked over the dream I had only hours before. Whether the dream was an actual not I had absolutely no idea. It was portrayed so vividly in my mind that I was leaning towards yes. Had Death somehow accessed my mind in my dream? Had he given me my dream.