Chapter One : "Death is a rumour to the young."
Not many people except the fact that there’s life after death, I know I didn’t in my first realizing years. But there is, in fact, life after death. Most people just don’t know it.
Wednesday morning was usual. I had my music blaring, the sun wasn’t shining, and my mom was screaming at me to turn it down. The music was necessary though, in order to drown out the voices in my head. No, I’m not crazy, I’m just. . . .different. I wasn’t always like this. When I was born I wasn’t alive. But after three attempts, I became alive.
I found a ward that I put on my house so I couldn’t see the Afterlifes, but I forgot about the hearing part of the gift. I had found ways to lower the voices though. The music helped a lot. Steven Tyler drowned out possibly every voice, except my mother’s. “Alice, turn the music down!” She yelled, probably from her room. My mother was the local coroner. She works pretty much non-stop, which leaves me all alone, but not really alone.
I applied my usual make-up: silver eye shadow, dark blue liner, and black mascara. I looked in the elegant oval mirror of my vanity. My brown hair framed my porcelain face, flowing a few inches past my bony shoulders. My grey eyes, highlighted by the makeup I had just put on, glowed through my straight bangs. My small lips were red and plump on their own, so I only had to put chap stick on. I looked a lot like my mother. In fact, the only trait I got from my father was my eyes. The shocking grey eyes are what drew my mother to my father, I was told.
I drew in a deep breath and said, “It’s just another day, Alice.” I finally turned off the music with the remote and walked downstairs. I had to act normal for my mother. There was no way I wanted her to know. She would freak out and probably send me to a mental institution. My mother wasn’t good with dealing with abnormal things, like me, and plus, I’ve been handling this for sixteen years now. I think I’ve got it down.
My bedroom was on the second floor of my house. Our house was small on the outside but very big inside. We had a bigger basement than other people. It was double the square feet of our house. It was an old Tudor house that my mother had gotten from a distant relative when they passed away. My mother’s room was down the hall from mine and the bathroom was right across from my door. We had a guest bedroom and a library downstairs in the basement.
I walked down to the kitchen. The whole way voices were screaming in my head. “Tell Iris!” or “It was him who murdered me!” or, better yet, “I need you to tell my family something!” That was probably the most FAQ in my head.
The kitchen was clean, all thanks to Rosa, who was probably in Dmitri’s, her son, room. Rosa is from Russia and our house maid. Her son is 5 years old and a bundle of energy. They live in the house with us, mainly because Mother Dearest thinks it’s outrageous to own a house but barely use it. They live in the second story of the basement, each having their own bedroom, bathroom, and a little kitchenette that they share when they’re not eating with us. They are like family to my mother and I. I got out the bagels and put two in the toaster, one for me and one for Mitri. A few minutes later, almost as if they planned it, Mother, coming from the top floor, and Rosa and Mitri came from their apartment. Dmitri
was dressed for preschool. He had his Toy Story backpack strapped to his back and I handed him the bagel.
“Alice, I’ll be late tonight. We just got a couple from New York arriving at ten o’clock.” My mother tells me in passing. She walked to the door and then turned and came back. “Oh, yes, and I love you.” She kisses me on the forehead, and then takes her second and last exit.
“Good morning, Alice.” said Rosa. She was packing Dmitri’s lunch in a Cars lunch box. She had a twinge of Russian in her voice. When she got mad the accent became heavier until she spoke Russian. That’s a bad thing by the way.
“Yes, good morning, Alice. Are you taking me to school today?” Dmitri asks from the stool by the counter.
“If it’s okay with your mother . . .” We turned to look at Rosa. She stared at us for a good long time. Finally, giving up, she sighed and returned to the lunch.
“I would like nothing more than that. It’ll give me time to clean-up from you two.” Dmitri and I gave each other high fives.
“Thank you, Rosa.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Say goodbye, Dmitri. We’ve got to go so we aren’t late.” He jumped off the stool and gave his mother a hug and kiss.
“Be good for Aunt Alice, okay.” He nods. When Mitri was even smaller, his mother told him that I was his aunt, or aunt-like person. He never really calls me aunt though.
“Come on, Mitri.” I held out my hand and he took it in his small one. It was nice and warm. He smiled up at me and I smiled back. He had lost his first tooth last week; it was his front one. From what pictures I've seen, Mitri looks a lot like his father. His father was from Russia as well, but he died before Dmitri had even turned two. Dmitri never really knew the man, hell I didn't even know him. Dmitri's father had the same green eyes and brown curly hair. They both shared the same nose and mouth, only on Mitri it was smaller. I knew how Dmitri felt though, I had lost my father when I was little. I don't understand how he went and I never saw him. I always thought it was a fluke; the seer couldn't see dead relatives of their own. I hadn't ever met another seer, so I couldn't really ask them the question. My life was okay, from what I could tell, without that father figure. I knew Mitri would turn out okay because he had more than enough family that loves him.
As I looked at him now, he looked older. He looked poised, and like he knew all the answers. I wish he did; I wish anyone did, so I could get the answers. WIth my help, he climbed into the back seat of my Black SUV and put his bag on the seat beside him. “Wait,” he says, “my lunch, Alice.” I freeze on the strap I’m doing.
“I’ll go get it. You stay here.” I left him unfinished in the car seat and went back to the door, where Rosa was waiting with the lunch box. “Thank you, Rosa.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Be careful!” She yells at me when I’m ready to leave, Dmitri strapped in back, his lunch safely nestled in his backpack.
“Aren’t I always?” I yell back. I smile at her, and she beams back with pride. Rosa was there throughout the years in my life when my mother wasn’t. She was my second mom, and I loved her. I put the car into gear and look into the mirror, so I could see Dmitri. “You ready kiddo?”
“You betcha!” He said with a lot of enthusiasm. I pull out of the driveway and soon we are on our way.
Alright so first thing I would like the point out would be the choppiness of this piece... There are just too much periods in there. 
