You're My Only Star

Chapter One: The Story Of My Death.

As the car summersaulted for the sixth time, the shattered glass pieces piercing my dry, unmoisturised skin, and violent shocks tossing my body around in the car like paper, surprisingly, my whole life didn’t flash before my eyes.

I can only see one thing; the picture of the deer I’m now dying for… and for some reason, this deer in my memory morphed and changed, until it was no longer an actual deer, but Santa himself, smiling down at my selflessness and sacrifice.

I should’ve just run over the damn deer.         

Something warm dribbled down my chin from my forehead, and the metallic taste of my own blood filled my mouth, mixing with the mint gum flavor that still lingered on my tongue.

The best and worst part is the lack of feeling in my limbs, and the body paralysis due to fear. If not for it, I could at least try to control the steering wheel, and somehow stop myself and the car I had borrowed from my boss from smashing into the street light pole.

It’s too late anyways.

Bracing myself for impact, my eyes clamped shut, my body going more rigid than it already was. Instead of the impact and pain, a peaceful unseen forced lifted my soul up, as if detaching it from my body, and I felt the weird sensation of being weightless and free, like I was made up of nothing but air.

So this was dying…

I wanted to find true love before I die. I wanted to talk to Vincent before I die. I wanted to travel to Dubai before I die. I wanted to make it big, and have my name on every popular newspaper, as the journalist who reported the biggest story yet, before I die. I wanted to buy my best friend a mansion before I die. I wanted to do so many things before I closed my eyes forever, or got sent to the angels, or got transported down below.

But I guess one never truly achieves everything one wants before death.

The peaceful feeling of floating disappeared, and a violent tug yanked away whatever it is within my body that kept me conscious, and aware.

Light…

Bright, blinding light…

Well, it seems like I’m going to heaven after all.

I don’t consider myself a very religious person, but I hadn’t done awful things in life, and I’ve tried to stock up on things that would eventually qualify me for heaven. Not that I was always successful in that area, but the thought is what matters right? Heaven just has to open up its doors for me, because come on; haven’t I led a shitty life already? Does the afterlife have to be horrible for me too?

Beep…

Beep…

Beep…

I focused on the sound, and tried seeing through the fog of white light that must be a portal where you meet the angels and they determine whether you’re good enough for heaven, or you have to be sent down below.

Don’t blame me on the vague details, it’s not like this is the second time I experienced dying and have become a death expert or something. I’m new to all of this too.

Beep…

Beep…

Beep…

The sound persisted, and with its consistency came a heavy feeling in my body. Wait, I had a body! Startled, I realized that the feeling of weightlessness had completely disappeared, and in its place, I could feel the presence of muscles, blood, and extreme fatigue that wouldn’t let me move the limbs I most definitely have.

Beep…

What is that annoying sound? Is it an elevator to heaven being pressed? Or is it the angels making a call to their higher-ups to finalize where I would spend the rest of eternity in? To be more realistic, it sounded like a machine. The type you would find in hospital emergency rooms, monitoring the heart-rate and whatnot of a patient…

An emergency room!

The smell of disinfectant reached my nostrils, and I tried again to move my body, but failed. However, my sense of touch had returned, and I could feel the soft cotton covers under me.

Beep…

Some people were whispering something in very low tones, and I struggled yet again to make a movement, or a noise that would alert them of my awareness, so they could get help or do something to help me move my body.

What if I am in a coma?!

The thought alarmed me, and like shockwaves had been sent to my brain, my body immediately woke up, and my eyes shot open. The first thing I did was look to the people that were conversing quietly, and my eyes must’ve been wide, or my gaze frightening, because they immediately rushed to my bed, and the male gently pushed me back on the bed.

“You need to rest, miss…” He murmured, before signaling to the woman to hand him the glass of water on the nearby table, and ordering her to get the nurse, or doctor.

I had never seen these two people my entire life.

Taking a sip of the sweet-tasting water, I glanced to the man skeptically, probably with obvious confusion written all over my face. He most definitely wasn’t a medical practitioner, and looked more like a bodyguard, judging from the black suit he wore, and the small communication device plugged into his right ear, the type bodyguards always went around with in movies.

Maybe he was the one who found me and rushed me to the hospital or called the ambulance?

“What happened?” I whispered, with an involuntary groan. A sharp pain pierced through my stomach, and I almost doubled over, but only clenched my teeth and kept my composure.

My voice sounded weird and different, so I cleared my throat and asked in a louder tone of voice “I remember the accident, where am I now?” It did nothing to change the tone of my voice, but the man heard me this time.

He stared at me with brows furrowed, before shifting from one leg to the other. “There wasn’t any accident miss. Are you feeling well? The doctor said the poisoning might cause hallucinations…”

What, the poisoning?

We stared at each other blankly, me trying to recollect my thoughts, and him trying to read my actions possibly to determine if I was still mentally sound.

The poisoning… I couldn’t remember a thing about poisoning. Had there been a mix up somewhere? Were the doctors wrong perhaps? Or was I missing something…

The woman who left earlier reentered, trailing behind a short man with white hair and a receding hairline, who had on a lab coat that was almost twice his size.

“Ah, Miss Amelia, how are you feeling?” He greeted pleasantly, mistaking my name, which for some reason annoyed me. People often think that my name; Amy, is a shortened version of Amelia.

“My stomach hurts, and it’s Amy, not Amelia.” I replied, sitting up completely, and stretching my neck muscles, to lessen the stiffness that avoided me from comfortably moving them around.

All three people in the room stared at me like I had suddenly grown a third eye or an extra head. The doctor cleared his throat and smiled, before coming closer to my bed and inspecting the machines.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He asked, moving three chubby red fingers towards my eyes.

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of his question, and answered.

“Very good… the stomach ache might persist for a while longer, but don’t worry, it is expected, due to the poison, and I will prescribe a pain-killer for you.” He explained, writing down something on a small notebook, and tearing out the piece of paper, before handing it to the woman behind him.

Again, I ransacked my brain for any information or memory about poison or being poisoned, just in case I didn’t forget about it, and look stupid while asking. There was none. “I can’t remember anything about poison. I can remember the car accident, but…”

“The car accident?” the doctor inquired, suddenly alert and interested.

I looked from the doctor, to the man, to the woman, and back to the doctor again. “Yeah, I was coming back from Vin’s concert and crashed the car I was driving…”

“You never drove a car after Vincent’s concert, miss. You drank a poisoned martini and suddenly collapsed, then we rushed you to the hospital.” The woman, who appeared timid and small, but had a surprisingly masculine voice said.

“No…” I began, and that was when I noticed the tiny details I had been too distracted to decipher.

My legs weren’t mine.

It might sound ridiculous, but the legs I am physically able to move, did not belong to me. For starters, they were too thin and spindly, poking out from underneath the hospital gown and bed covers. They looked smooth, shaved, and completely flawless.

The legs I had known for twenty-five years were larger, and most definitely had scratches and scars from when I played too rough in my early teenage years.

Quickly, I got to inspecting my hands, and found the same contrast, then touched my face, feeling the hollow cheeks, the high cheekbones, the plump lips, and the bulgy eyes. Most surprising of all, there were no bumps on my face, which meant there was no acne.

“Miss Amelia, are you feeling alright…”

“Bring me a mirror!” I demanded urgently, cutting off the doctor, to the astonishment of the other two people in the room. When none of them moved, I jumped out of bed, stumbling in the process and almost hitting the floor. Thankfully, the bodyguard caught me in time.

“I need a mirror. Something is wrong; this is not my body…” I raved, like a complete madwoman. But it’s acceptable, considering the fact that evidence is showing that I’m not inhibiting my own body.

The bodyguard held on to me with an iron grip.

Suddenly, my focus shifted to the large flat-screen TV, and instantly, my blood went cold, my body going completely rigid.

“Extremely gruesome and horrible news to us all; twenty-five year old Amy Park, who published the article ‘Scamlebrities’ exposing certain celebrities, back in twenty seventeen, has lost her life in a ghastly car accident yesterday. The young and promising journalist was returning from Vincent’s concert which was held in Jin Min Concert Hall, when for reasons unknown, her car crashed. The funeral will be held privately with…” the newscaster was saying.

“I’m dead. But I’m here, but I have died.” I whispered.

“I need you to breathe, miss, breathe…”

I couldn’t even pinpoint who had spoken, because freaked out, the timid woman had turned off the TV and in the dark reflection of the blackened screen; another woman stared back at me.

I passed away to the sight of my own mirror image.