I was here

Another Monday morning.

I keep recalling that moment.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a blinding light. It was different to the kind of light that would shine through my window each morning. This light was a strange glow, and I was drawn to it. Like the kind of light you see when you look into the sun, and it's hidden by grey clouds.

It faded and I was left in my room, surronded by police tape and black bags. My furniture, gone. My clothes, gone. My makeup, gone. Just me.

I walked downstairs, into my kitchen. Its tiles cracked and falling off the wall. My mum, dad and brother stood looking around.

"Hey, what the hell is going on? " I shoved my brother from behind, but nothing happened. Instead, my hands fell through his torso. 

I recoiled in terror, my hands shook like a leaf and the realization that something was very wrong began to set in. I think them discussing what song to play at my funeral was also a pretty big red flag.

"Pure imagination, stupid Willy Wonka was always her favourite movie. I swear to god it's been drilled into my head. " my brother had a point there.

You see, with death also comes the realization that some people really don't like you.

"No, she'd hate that. She liked the movie, not the songs. Heart of Glass by Blondie. " My mother said with a smug look on her face.

"Since when did she ever like that? At least my idea has some sentimental value. "

Now that I look back at this, arguing over my music taste was the best thing to do in this situation. If I found out my daughter or sister were murdered in the middle of the night i'd probably do this too. That was sarcasm, of course.

I just stood looking at them, my heart wasn't beating fast in my chest, in fact, it wasn't beating at all. I brought my hands closer to my face to move my hair behind my ears, that's when I saw the painful bruises all over my wrists, and the memories of the night before came flooding back.

I wiped off my makeup and set the face cloth back on the side of the sink. I'd only had a few drinks, yet the entire room was spinning. I stumbled up my stairs and swung open the door to my room. The smell of coffee and of my own perfume flooded my nose, about 3 mugs with dregs of left over coffee were sat on my bedside table and dresser. I really needed to clean up sometime. I walked over to my bed and picked up the book I had been reading. Little Women, a classic. I'd read this book about 250 times over. I set it back down and looked at my alarm clock. 10:10. It sounded weird to say, it rolled off the tongue. 10:10, 10:10. Kinda like my age, 22. I said it over and over again. Yeah, I was drunk.

I slipped off my heels and my socks. The feeling of no longer being confined to the pair of shoes that were too small for me was amazing. Why did I even wear heels if I hated them. 

I took a comb and brushed my hair. It was soft and the curls I had made with a curling iron hours earlier had began to fall out. I set the comb down and looked at myself in the mirror. I smile spread across my face, 22. It faded when I saw a figure behind me. My stomach dropped and suddenly whoever it was had a tight grip on my wrists.

They swung me onto my bed and panic set in, I screamed. Before I could get a good look at whoever it was. It went dark as the feeling of smooth fabric pressed against my face. I couldn't breathe. I felt around with my throbbing hands and scratched and hit and pinched. They weren't moving, no matter how hard I tried. I screamed into the pillow as loud as I could, but it was muffled. Suddenly, I lost control of my arms as I tried to have one last breath. I couldn't.

"Oh my god... " I muttered, still stood in my kitchen.

"I'm dead. "