My suicide was an awakening. I expected to die, but instead only my soul did. I awoke on the bathroom floor, blood everywhere and not knowing what had happened. There was no chance to reflect as straight away a female voice give me instructs I had to obey. I tided up, washed, dressed and packed a rucksack. Stepping outside, I left home for what might have been the fifth time, only I could never go back.
The owner of the voice was waiting for me and she compelled me into another world that exists under ours’. I learnt a lot about death and life in that first month. My Giver kept reminding me how lucky I was that a vampire had answered my death call. Apparently, anything can come to you in those first moments afterwards. She often joked that she’d fought off a zombie and a demon for me.
Now six months later, I’m on my own and learning to love the world, as she calls it. If none of this had happened, then I wouldn’t have gotten my second chance at life. This realisation comes to me as I jostle for space getting on the Underground. I jam myself into the already packed space. Someone elbows me in the ribs and someone else steps on my toes. The doors hisses shut and the train whizzes off.
Nirvana plays loudly from my IPod and I’m comforted by the familiarity of it. A part of me wonders if it’s right to listen to the music of my last human months. My mental stability is better and I’m less emotional. Still, maybe I need to find some new music to suit this new life. The realisation won’t leave my thoughts. It gives raise to so many other questions demanding answers. Including; if I had known that my suicide would lead to this would I’ve still done it?
A bag catches my shoulder. The owner mutters an apology, but I don’t hear it. My raised arm starts to go numb. I let go of the strap and study the greyness of my skin. Scars crisscross the surface looking like cracks in porcelain. Was I really that fragile once? I pull down the sleeve of my hoodie and look around. No one else has noticed me. And why would they? London only contains two types of people the residents and the visitors. Either have time to deal with each other or anything else. They are too frantic trying to get from place to place, doing what they believe they need to do and keeping London ticking.
We stop at a station and people switch places with each other. I grip the strap and stand my ground. The doors shut and we are off again, plunging back into the noisy darkness. My stop is next, but actually, I enjoy the press of bodies against my own. It brings some warmth back into my skin and reminds me that my new form is alive.