This is a very different type of piece for me. I'm getting out of the box. Tell me what you think.

Chapter One

Like many stories, like many trees, like many snacks… it all began with an apple. The object itself was red. It was so clean one could see their reflection in it. Whether or not the expression seen was sour or joyful, I had a very firm belief that it would indeed affect the taste of the fruit.

This apple, my apple, was sweet. I’d just gotten off of the bus with this particular fruit, and had taken my first bite. The juice exploded in my mouth, and being a person who likes to enjoy experiences, I closed my eyes in pleasure. Kids behind me jostled my arm, and the apple hit my chin, but I simply tucked it under my arm and found a spot on the curb.

I had my books under the other arm, and had my book-bag hitched up on the other shoulder. Needless to say, it was a very uncomfortable position, but I just had to take a bite of the apple I’d picked from our family orchard that morning before going into the school.

It was then that it happened. Then that my end began. Then that would put a conclusion to all that I had in the living world but would start something crucial and strange in the after. I stepped off the curb to cross the street, as all the other kids were doing.

And I dropped my apple.

So many things could have happened then. The adult crossing the street could have stopped and helped me, instead of hiding me from sight from the woman with the stop sign. I could have left the apple. I could have taken the apple and turned back. But as it was, I bent down to pick up the apple, an adult crossed the street right in front of me and hid me from view, and after the apple was in my hand, I continued on my way across the divide of my life and my death.

It was then that I died.

A car, having been given the go-ahead by the woman with the sign, surged forward. Afterwards I could imagine that foot hitting the gas, and the driver spotting me one second too late. But at that moment, I was hit by the front of that car, and I flew back and hit my head on the pavement.

I never got to see what happened after that. I never got to watch the reaction of the driver, or of the woman with the stop sign, because I was flying.

The only thing that I could think of while I was flying was, So it’s true. There is a tunnel. It was like I had been told. Everything all around me was darkness. But at the end, I could see a vivid light, almost like the beam of a flashlight, shining like a beacon.

But I did not experience the joy, or anticipation, or fear that I’d heard some people felt. The only emotion I felt was… unhappiness. I wasn’t ready to leave my home yet. I wanted to stay, to live. I had plans to be an English teacher when I grew up. I wanted to see my sister’s baby when it was born. I was only thirteen! I’d been healthy, I’d been a good student. Why did this have to happen to me now?

And as I neared the light, I became more and more agitated and angry. It was an odd emotion for me. I was rarely angry. At home, I really didn’t have anything to be angry about. I had no little brothers to annoy me. School didn’t bother me, and I got along with all my teachers.

The strange, new anger flooded my being, and I began to flail my arms and legs. It was as if I was in outer space, and there was no gravity, because nothing happened. I merely continued floating my way towards the infuriating light.

I fought at the air, trying to hit it as if it had a face. My anger only grew when I felt like I was being ignored. No one had ever ignored me in my life.

“You’re so stupid!” I shrieked at it, kicking and thrusting my arms out some more. “I hate you! I’m going to make you miserable!”

The light was becoming brighter and larger, and as I neared it I felt as if I was drawing to my own death, though I’d already died. I began to scream, then wail, my sobs sounding like short gasps, as if my lungs were out of air. I gave up, sagging, and the cool air all around seemed to gather me closer. I stared at the light, lips trembling. The desire to live within me was silencing in resolution. I had lost.

Then, suddenly, I was let go. The grip on my body seemed to vanish, and I fell. The bottom of the tunnel came to meet me, and I cringed in anticipation, but I fell through it, as if the darkness was a cloud. I blinked, and the wind blew through my hair. I looked around me, and felt my eyes widen in reaction to what they saw.

I was falling through the sky. Blue, not black, was all around me then. Instead of being cool, the air was cold. I clutched my arms to myself and brought my knees up. In the past, I’d heard that when at a great height, it was always a bad idea to look down.

Look down I did. And strangely, I was not alarmed at what I saw. I’d been in an airplane before, and the view coming fast at me was what I had seen from out of the window. There were little squares, and lines, and a lot of green. Briefly, as I enjoyed studying everything below, I wondered what would happen when I reached the ground. Would it hurt? Would I die again?

Then more questions popped into my head. Was it possible to die twice? What had happened in the tunnel? Why had I been released from going to the light? Had that ever happened to anyone else?

Then I realized that there should have been butterflies in my stomach, like there had been when I was at the fair, riding the biggest roller coaster. But there was nothing. All I could feel was the temperature of the air. It was as if all feeling had left my body.

In a way I supposed that made sense, if I was dead. Technically, I had no body. I was a soul, I believed. But I still felt a loss. It would have been fun to have the butterflies. It was always the best part of riding roller coasters, or being on an airplane.

I mentally shrugged, and again went back to looking at the ground. It wasn’t far then, and I experienced a moment of worry, again uncharacteristic for me. Perhaps one worries more in death than one does in life, I pondered. But I could not deny the profound relief I felt at having escaped that looming light that I hadn’t been ready to go to.

It occurred to me that maybe I was being given back my life, and new excitement flowed through my veins.

I could make out the cars then, and the buildings and roads. Only a little more time. I tried to discern where I would fall. There was a field below me. It would be the perfect place for a landing. That way I wouldn’t hit anything. If I even lived after the fall.

My house wasn’t to be seen. In fact, I didn’t recognize what city I was falling into. There were many tall buildings, as my home had had, but I couldn’t remember any of them. They were all different from mine. Had the tunnel been above a completely different place than where I died?

But that wouldn’t make sense, would it?

I hated not knowing the rules of dying. I’d always known the rules. They had been my safety net. Now that they were gone I felt uncomfortable, to say in the least.

I was closer than ever to the ground. I hoped no one would see me. It would cause a panic, and I wanted my return to be as quiet as possible. I’d never liked attention.

Maneuvering my body by holding out my arms and legs, I headed for the obliging field. It rushed closer and closer, and I shut my eyes in true fear. Pain was something I’d experienced only in minimal amounts. Stubbing a toe, cutting my finger on the side of a piece of paper, bumping my head. I hadn’t even felt my death—it had happened to quickly.

I opened one eye a slit to see how close I was, and I uttered a small scream.

I hit the ground.