Reborn as The-Girl-Who-Lived

Prologue

Some people say dying is the worst thing out there. Others say death is quick and painless, that you don't even realize you're dying. Then there are the ones that say it's the most painful experience one could ever face.

I say those people drunk, high or both.

How would they know what death or dying feels like? The ones that know are dead or dying. If they are dying they more than likely won't share their experience with anyone until some time has passed or ever.

You're probably wondering why I'm rambling about death, aren't you? The reason is simple really.

I'm dying.

I've been dying for a couple of months now.

I was diagnosed with terminal cancer about six months ago and started to get treatment, chemotherapy. After the first session, my body took a toll.

As soon as my hair started to fall, I asked my mother to shave it all off; and as she did, tears started to fall down my cheeks and I heard my mother sobbing behind me. My hair always seemed to have a mind of its own, but I loved it none the less.

My family also changed, no longer laughing or smiling. The aura surrounding them was dull and depressing, making me wish that I'd never told them about my condition. Due to this, I decided to stay away from them without trying to make it look rude. Now I know what you're thinking; 'why would you do that? Family is important and can help you.' I don't believe that.

Sure they can be there for support and to lift up my spirits, but they don't. Not anymore.

So here I am, laying in a hospital bed, waiting. The heart monitor attached to me beeped steadily, my arms had IV's in them as well. I had prayed to God, not for salvation, but for the pain to be more bearable, for him to ease my pain only a little, only for the pain to increase as the days, weeks and months went by.

Daddy told me God was listening and was working on something for me, but I tuned him out, not believing what he was saying. I had lost faith in God.

Daddy would be so disappointed in me but I don't care. I just wanted the pain to be more bearable and He didn't grant me that.

Instead, I began to ask for death. Every time I felt pain become to much, when I was so sick and could do nothing but vomit what little food I had consumed, and when I found out my fiance was cheating on me.

I had begged for death for the longest of times now that my mind started to conjure a dark figure only I could see.

The first time I had seen him, I was about to tell my doctor, only for said figure to shake his head no. So I remained silent.

Gasping, I hold my chest and my head. The pain has become sharper and more focused. I realize my time is coming to an end.

Just then, the dark figure appeared again, only this time I could see it clearly. Tall with a black cloak on him--wait him?

Now that I'm seeing him without obstruction, I realized that the figure was indeed a him. His body was toned from what I could tell and he had black hair hanging out.

The room had gotten colder, as if a window had been opened in the middle of a blizzard. Focusing on the man once more, I saw he was holding a scythe.

My eyes widen a fraction, realization striking me.

It was Death.

What I did next would have shocked anyone, and I think it even shocked Death. Instead of fear or anger, sorrow or sarcasm; I smiled. I smiled at Death as best as I could through the pain and watched as he tilted his head to the side.

Then I decided to speak to him.

"Hello Death."

He didn't respond immediately, but instead slowly approached my hospital bed and stood to my right. "Are you not afraid, child?" He asked with a cold, yet deep and rich voice.

"I recent the child comment...but I guess compared to you I am a child." I said and chuckled only to hiss in pain from both the chest and head pain. "As for your question...no. I'm not afraid," I answered, looking were his face laid hidden by the hood of his cloak. "I'm not afraid of dying, not really."

"Yet I feel you wanting to live."

"Being afraid of death and being ready for it are two entirely different things Death." I told him with some sass. "Am I ready to die? I don't really believe anyone is. They may say it and convince others, but they themselves don't believe it and know they aren't." I kept talking, feeling the pain numb down some and liking our talk. "I thought the drugs were making me hallucinate when I first saw you. I was going to ask my doctor if it was normal, when I saw you shake your head. Why did you tell me not to?"

"They would have given you more medication. Medication that would have done more harm than good to you."

I was taken aback, not expecting that kind of response from The Reaper himself.

"You...you were protecting me?"

He simply nods and moves a hand near mine. "Yes, for if I hadn't, you would have died much to quickly, before it was your time to die."

"So what I've read and heard about death is true. We die when it's our time to do so, Not before nor after."

"Balance must be kept child."

Before I could respond, pain seemed to explode from my chest and head. Tears fell from my eyes as I fought no to scream.

"Please...it hurts. Make it stop please."

He looks at me and moves the hand resting near mine to my cheek and caresses it.

"Sleep now child."

And just like that I, Liani Ventura, died at age 28 at 11:58 pm.