The Victim and Death

For most of us, Death is the end. For the vicitm, Death is only the beginning. This is the story of how she died, and how her fear of Death had more physical presence in reality than she could have ever dreamt to dread. The victim, formerly Maegan Murphy of Reeldale Academy for Girls, was born 15th November 1995 and died 25th November 2011. She had lived a good life, it was nothing exciting but she had enjoyed it while it lasted. Now she's dead, murdered to be exact, and Death has come to collect his payment... or has he? Or, more importantly, CAN he?

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3. The Victim and Night

As she walked, the carpet of amber and ruby red leaves crunched, each new step taking the victim further away from her school, and deeper into the forest. The crisp autumn wind whipped her face, sending her ponytail, still ever so slightly to the left, streaming out behind her. She embraced the cold, loving the way it woke her up, sending chills sprinting through her body. The victim loved autumn, for it was bitter but dry, and she loved the way the dying leaves painted her forest in colours of fire and warmth. This was her place, her escape.

After walking the long, winding path so familiar to her now, she arrived at her most favourite area in the entire wood. The victim was in a clearing, where the dense foliage hid Reeldale Academy for Girls, her school and home, completely, isolating her further. O’Sullivan Hills rose up around her, enclosing her, protecting her from the rest of the world. The Hills were engulfed in flames, the fiery colours of the once rich jade treetops licking the sky, which was now dark, but lit up with the final sun rays of the day.

As twilight fell, the victim sat down, cross-legged, as she contemplated the events of the last couple of hours. She knew Nathalie now had what she wanted, like she always did, and this annoyed the victim greatly. What had she ever done to her? Could sharing a dorm with her be that bad? It might be, she thought, as I’ve never done so.

There was also the fact that she now owned very little, as nearly all her belongings lived on the floor of that dorm. Why hadn’t she done what Nathalie had said? She clearly remembered being told to tidy it up, after she went out to that stupid party. That was her problem though, she never did as she was told, and it had cost the victim her best mascara.

It was then, as the victim stretched out her legs to avoid cramp, that her privacy was breached, as someone sat down next to her.

Her first instinct was to scream, but not out of fear but of horror. This was her place, no-one else’s, the stranger couldn’t be here. Not ever.

The stranger must have noticed this, for he quickly jumped up and backed away, but smiled and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

His voice was deep and kind, the lips it was coming from shaped in a smile, making him bright against their steadily growing darker surroundings. In fact, his whole body was light, his fair hair long and uncombed, sticking up in all directions like he had just woken up and couldn’t be bothered to smooth it down, simply out of laziness. His skin was golden, but natural, and his eyes were soft and azure. The only thing stopping him from, in the victim’s opinion, becoming his own sun was that he was dressed in cloth of inmost black.

“Uh,” the victim was lost for words. Reeldale Academy was a school for girls, and she rarely ever got the chance to look upon the male of the species. This one in particular had her completely stumped.

“Let’s start with hello?”

The victim, feeling as stupid as she was, muttered a quiet, “Hello.”

They stood in silence for a few, long moments, and the victim realised how strange it was for him to be here. This was in the middle of no-where, and that’s why the victim loved it so. Finally, after the silence became unbearable, the victim spoke.

“Why are you here?”

“Just moved here, figured I should explore the area.”

“O’Sullivan Village?”

“Yeah.”

There was another silence.

“Are you Irish?” He asked the victim suddenly, tilting his head to one side for an instant, making his blond hair fall to one side and fall over his quizzical eyes.

"Are you English?

“You can’t answer a question with a question.”

“What's this? An interrogation?,” she shot back, sounding more defensive than she needed to be.

“You've asked me more questions than I've asked you!" He laughed, hands held up in mock surrender. "So, what’s your name? Or am I not allowed to ask any more questions?”

“Uh, Maegan Murphy,” she decided, not entirely sure why she needed to. "And that is the last question you can ask me."

“Megan?” he asked, much to the victim's annoyance, ignoring her request.

“Maegan. I’m Irish remember.”

“Oh.”

“So what’s your name?”

“Oh,” he said again, this time giving her his most dazzling smile yet. “You don’t need to know my name yet.”

The victim took a moment, before registering what he had said. Suddenly, the victim felt brainless again. Of course she didn’t need to know his name. How stupid of her to think so.

“Oh, of course,” she babbled, “sorry.”

“No problem.”

 Dark had truly fallen now, but it was surprisingly light considering the moon and stars were covered in a cloak of thick cloud. The stranger must have noticed too, for his forehead creased and he pointed, not at the sky, but at the victim.

“You're glowing,” he pointed out, his voice calm but fearful.

“Thank you.”

“No, I mean it, you're literally,” he gestured to her skin, “glowing.”

The victim looked down and held her breath. Her skin, the colour she had admired just hours ago, was now pure white, illuminated and bright. She stood out by a mile, marked as a target against the night. This was scaring her, making her heart climb her oesophagus to make its home in her mouth. For the second time tonight she felt like screaming and she looked to her stranger for comfort.

"What the..."

"I'm sorry," he smiled apologetically, "I can't do anything about it. Your fate is out of my hands. Could you do me a favour though?"

The victim nodded grimly.

"Could you forget me, and that I was here?"

So she did, and all she could see was the darkness, knowing she was isolated and alone. She felt a salty tear crawl down her face, and she stood, bathing in radiance and surrounded by the night.

And that’s when the singing started.

 

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