I've died ten times. The first time, I was sixteen-years-old, out for a jog at the park. I was living an ordinary teenage girl's life. My days were all about my best friends, sports, and our crush of the week. Then suddenly, I was staring down the barrel of a gun and the guy shot me. He actually shot me. Can you believe it?
That was the first time it happened. The doctor said I flatlined and they covered me with a sheet and everything. When my parents came to identify my body, I moved. I was alive and they totally freaked. Said I was a medical miracle.
The next time I died I was twenty-two. I was racing across campus to get to class before my professor locked the door when I was hit by a car. They said my body was twisted like a pretzel. I had blood coming from every opening of my face. Major trauma, right? But, again, I was alive.
The third time was the one I was convinced would claim my life. I was alone in my first apartment off campus asleep in the dead of night, as if I should be using the word dead, but anyways it was during the dead of night when an intruder broke into my place. I woke up screaming and fighting the air like a wild cat and to shut me up he snapped my neck. Now, that one I remember, because I saw a blinding white light. I'd heard stories about the white light and I thought, this is it. But, it wasn't.
I've come back from death more times than a cat with nine lives. But, this fall may be the nail in my coffin. I won't know until I hit the ground. Just know, I was supernatural. I was the girl who refused to die.