The Breath of a Guardian

Chapter 1

Confessions of Lost Souls: Part I

Dear Diary,

I would say it is me again. But I wouldn’t be able to tell you if that was a lie or not. Ever since I woke up from whatever it was that happened to me I haven’t been the same. In fact, it all links back to my accident, the blasted plane crash that claimed so many lives. All was lost, save for me of course. Why didn’t I die?

I sat there on that plane trying to breathe because I absolutely despised airplanes. Everyone kept telling me that I shouldn’t be afraid. I shouldn’t have so much anxiety because airplanes were great and that they were safer than traveling by vehicle. Stupidly, I disregarded my own intuition and took my dream trip to England. The vacation was great and I was able to meet one of my favorite rock bands at the concert I went to in London.

I was distraught after hearing of a death that occurred at the same concert. Apparently a young girl around my own age had been beaten to death in a mosh pit. I blared my ipod and Icon for Hire roared to life in my ears. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew Avenged Sevenfold’s song ‘Afterlife’ blasted me awake along with a violent jolt. My eyes flew open and panic spiked as the cabin of the plane began to rattle and shake. I paused my my music and peered outside. Large ominous storm clouds blocked the sky and flashes of lightning lit it up. I shifted my gaze towards the tail of the plane only to find it ablaze.

The plane had been struck by lightning. I noticed the plane was starting to rattle and shake ever so more violent and faster too. We were on a downward path. It didn’t take me long to realize that we were falling from the sky at high speed. The oxygen bags dropped from the ceiling and I knew from that instant what was happening. I strapped the oxygen device to my and pressed play as I closed my eyes and accepted my fate. There was nothing I could to save anyone’s lives, certainly not even my own.

The next thing I knew I opened my eyes to see a scalpel in my face. I gasped like I had been under water for longer than three minutes. The man holding the tool jumped and screamed like a frightened child. “Zombie!” he yelled and dropped his scalpel as he fled the building. I caught my breath and sat up. I had been laying on a tall metal slab and I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. Countless coffins and what looked like dead bodies were scattered about the room. The bodies were all stripped of their clothing and laying on similar looking metallic slabs. I peered down at my body and I too was naked. I fell trying to slide off of the metal table and stumbled to the doorway. I ran five miles before I was received by a state trooper and handed a police jacket to cover my nakedness. We drove past the place I had escaped from and I simply asked the officer what it was.

“That’s where they prepare the dead.” He replied. I had woken up in a morgue. But I obviously wasn’t dead.

Ever since then I’ve been significantly different. I looked at my eyes for the first time since the crash in the bathroom mirror and was startled to see a pair of emerald green ones starring back at me. Before I left on that plane from England back home they were hazel, looking more brown then anything. I woke up the third night after it all happened on the wall, my feet dangling above my bed. Technology loves me now and it used to hate my guts. I don’t know who or what I am anymore diary.

So why didn’t I die in the plane crash that killed everyone aboard? I don’t know. But I should have.

-Railynn

Dear Diary,

I know it’s been a while since I have written amongst your pages, but I haven’t really felt the need to
write anything down until now. A few days ago I woke up in a hospital; the doctor told me I had been in a coma for the last three months and those three months ago I had washed up on the beach. They said my heart beat was real slow and that they had a hard time finding a pulse, they said I should have been dead, and that I should thank my lucky stars that I wasn’t.

I don’t remember much but I do remember what happened before the coma, the whole reason I decided to even write on your delicate pages again. I’ve been rock climbing all my life and I shouldn’t have fallen but I did. I decided after graduation that I wanted to conquer the Rocky Mountains, bad idea on my part. I had made it almost all the way to the top, when I went to grab a rock that was jutting out. It had looked pretty sturdy but I guess not because the next thing I know I’m falling 14,000 ft. down the mountain side plunging straight into the river below, and unfortunately for me I can’t swim worth shit. I supposedly washed up on the shores of Emerald Lake. The last thing I remember were my lungs filling up with water and everything around me turning black. After that I don’t remember anything except waking up in the hospital.

Ever since I returned home weird shit has been happening to me. I’ve somehow developed the ability to control the elements. I was cooking the other day and sliced my hand on the butcher knife I was using and my skin started to regenerate and heal itself.

I should have died when I fell, so why didn’t I? Is there something greater that I’m supposed to do? I’m left with more questions than answers.

-Lyrica