Not Quite Dead
The Next Stage
I’d always loved CSI. All that shit, CSI, Bones, NCIS, hell even Dexter. I loved anything to do with forensics. So, I cannot deny the thrill I felt when a forensic examiner came to see my body, and I watched!
The forensic examiner was a woman, with dirty blond hair that curled all the way down her back. She looked like I’d always imagined Rapunzel as a child. Crouching over my body, she declared that I’d been stabbed in my sleep, probably not feeling a thing. Her partner was talking to my mum, who was still crying. I felt kinda bad being so buzzed when my mum was like that, but she was like Bones! Only she examined my flesh. There was a photographer there, taking photographs of the room and my body. I’d have fixed my hair if I’d known, and wore better PJ’s. Seriously, they had Tinker-bell on them! The photographer was cute too. Looked like Zach from Bones, who was my favourite until he got dragged off to the loony bin because her was the apprentice to a cannibalistic serial killer. I really enjoyed saying that, much to my friends’ annoyance.
Anyway.
So while I was having my little geek out, I didn’t notice the bright light. The bright light getting brighter. The bright light that seemed to be coming from the end of the proverbial tunnel. On top of that, between drooling over the photographer and observing my own forensic examination, I didn’t notice him. He wasn’t young, looked around early 30’s maybe, but the good kind, like Misha Collins or David Boreanaz. Actually, he kinda looked like Misha Collins, all unnatural blue eyes and messy hair. He gave the impression he could be quite adorable, but at this moment, the fact he was here kinda pissed me off. This was awesome. I wanted to keep watching.
“Hello Lea”
He spoke without tone or emotion, like a good little android, his eyes burning holes in the side of my face, watching me watch people discus my murder. I wanted to ignore him, like a stubborn petulant child, brush him off so I didn’t have to go. It wasn't just the forensics; I couldn’t leave here, not yet. Eventually, I turned to face him.
“Hi.” My voice was quiet, hoarse. “Where am I going?”
“The next stage”
Well, that was specific. Cleared everything up for me there, Bright Eyes. I understand what’s happening completely.
“Next stage of what?” I figured, seeing as this guy could probably send me to Hell or something, I should piss him off just yet.
“They…they don’t tell me that much” he seemed ashamed of that fact, like he used to know, but somehow, didn’t now. Otherworldly demotion. Ha.
“What do they tell you then?” I turned my face back to my body, being lifted into a body bag and carted away. There I went, my life over. Here I stood, talking to someone, who didn’t know much.
“That it’s different for everyone, it’s shaped to your wants and dreams and imagination, which is why I look like I do. Misha Collins? He seemed to be a comforting thought to you, better than your Uncle Roger. Did I do right? Because I can change”
I shook my head. I was not going to let Mr-Whatever-He-Was change himself. Not when he looked so damn fine, and once he turned off his business face, probably completely adorable.
“Good for me” I said, my eyes on the retreating crime lab people, taking their evidence away with them. “What happens next then?”
“We leave”
Then, just as simply as he said it, there was a flash of all-together-blinding light, and we were gone.
The forensic examiner was a woman, with dirty blond hair that curled all the way down her back. She looked like I’d always imagined Rapunzel as a child. Crouching over my body, she declared that I’d been stabbed in my sleep, probably not feeling a thing. Her partner was talking to my mum, who was still crying. I felt kinda bad being so buzzed when my mum was like that, but she was like Bones! Only she examined my flesh. There was a photographer there, taking photographs of the room and my body. I’d have fixed my hair if I’d known, and wore better PJ’s. Seriously, they had Tinker-bell on them! The photographer was cute too. Looked like Zach from Bones, who was my favourite until he got dragged off to the loony bin because her was the apprentice to a cannibalistic serial killer. I really enjoyed saying that, much to my friends’ annoyance.
Anyway.
So while I was having my little geek out, I didn’t notice the bright light. The bright light getting brighter. The bright light that seemed to be coming from the end of the proverbial tunnel. On top of that, between drooling over the photographer and observing my own forensic examination, I didn’t notice him. He wasn’t young, looked around early 30’s maybe, but the good kind, like Misha Collins or David Boreanaz. Actually, he kinda looked like Misha Collins, all unnatural blue eyes and messy hair. He gave the impression he could be quite adorable, but at this moment, the fact he was here kinda pissed me off. This was awesome. I wanted to keep watching.
“Hello Lea”
He spoke without tone or emotion, like a good little android, his eyes burning holes in the side of my face, watching me watch people discus my murder. I wanted to ignore him, like a stubborn petulant child, brush him off so I didn’t have to go. It wasn't just the forensics; I couldn’t leave here, not yet. Eventually, I turned to face him.
“Hi.” My voice was quiet, hoarse. “Where am I going?”
“The next stage”
Well, that was specific. Cleared everything up for me there, Bright Eyes. I understand what’s happening completely.
“Next stage of what?” I figured, seeing as this guy could probably send me to Hell or something, I should piss him off just yet.
“They…they don’t tell me that much” he seemed ashamed of that fact, like he used to know, but somehow, didn’t now. Otherworldly demotion. Ha.
“What do they tell you then?” I turned my face back to my body, being lifted into a body bag and carted away. There I went, my life over. Here I stood, talking to someone, who didn’t know much.
“That it’s different for everyone, it’s shaped to your wants and dreams and imagination, which is why I look like I do. Misha Collins? He seemed to be a comforting thought to you, better than your Uncle Roger. Did I do right? Because I can change”
I shook my head. I was not going to let Mr-Whatever-He-Was change himself. Not when he looked so damn fine, and once he turned off his business face, probably completely adorable.
“Good for me” I said, my eyes on the retreating crime lab people, taking their evidence away with them. “What happens next then?”
“We leave”
Then, just as simply as he said it, there was a flash of all-together-blinding light, and we were gone.