Death Does Not Become Me....

"Lime?," he quivered. His face filled with recognition and surprise. I can't believe I'm here , I thought. The Rhyme. I passed out cold, still in the glass coffin. Zillah shook me awake, with a touch I'd nearly forgotten. It's him!! I screamed, feeling hurt, scared, and above all angry at the realization that this heartless soul brought me back from where I escaped. He held tight, avoiding my flailing arms. Pinpricks of glass cut my skin, but the pain of being in this place was worse. I knew what type of things happened in this room. I shouldn't be here. I manage myself out of his grasp and onto the floor, among even more glass. At this point, I didn't care. I stared into his eyes, snarling. "Lime, how did you --?" he says, at a loss for words. He looked exactly the same as the day I killed myself. Dressed in a manner the highschool kids back in Sea-at-tel tended to dress. "I don't know. Send me back. Now ,"

Sea-at-tel. It's been my home for so long that I'd nearly forgotten my old home. And the home before that, to be honest. Life became eventful and joyous, as best can be for a girl living in a cardboard city full of vagrants. My circle of friends were those 'crazy people' on the bus, the bumps on the sidewalk you remember long after your wallet was stolen, the dancing and parties behind convenience stores where highschoolers would flock. It was one of those days me and Jorge were leaning against a graffiti-covered dumpster behind the Plaid Pantry smoking cigarettes. Jorge was the type of guy that was always around, as if he had nothing better to do. He once got me an ID card that said my name is Carmelita Gonzalez so I can legally buy booze and cigarettes. That's what friends are for, right? It was in that moment when Jorge was about to tell me some juicy gossip about Patrick that I got a piercing headache. I pulled my dreadlocks out of my face, trying to get some a