Chapter 1: Chapter 1: The Strings of Fate

My name is Alana, and I am the paragon of misfortune. You see, everything began the day I was born into this world. Although I was not born to poverty, my family was always on the verge of collapsing. With a drunkard of a father and a cold mother that wasted all her time and money into trying to look prettier, I was left mostly alone for most of my childhood. My father was a strict man, prone to anger due to the bad hand that life had dealt him. There were many times I pitied him all throughout my early years, but as I grew up he became more and more twisted.

Of course the change wasn't instantaneous. At first he simply yelled at me or my mother when he had a bad day, and I found it understandable. He was the one doing most of the heavy-lifting in the house after all. But as time went on he became more aggressive. He would throw mouthful after mouthful of insults, humiliating my mother to the point she would lock herself in the bathroom when he came home drunk on the weekends.

Without my mother to target, he started to use me as his stress relief. Shouting, yelling and even pushing around as he liked. At first it was okay by me, as long as mother was okay I would be fine right? Wrong. One of those days that father came back completely wasted drunk my mother just used the chance to pack her things and straight up leave the house. She left me behind. And of course father didn't take my mother leaving as a responsible adult, no.

He got physical instead. To save you the trouble of going step by step with it, I will just leave it very clear: He beat me to an inch of my life.

It was...Awful to say the least. But I managed to scramble myself to stand up and go back to my room, where I would write down everything that happened in the form of short stories. These little moments of respite were the only thing keeping me sane in that household. For years had I endured that shitty life, but I had discovered something else. Something that brought me happiness: Writing.

Such a simple thing it was. Weaving the words in my mind and translating them to paper always made me feel just a little bit better with my life, as if I was somehow able to escape the hellhole I was in. Although I was never quite popular with people at school, I still managed to gather a few friends over the years. Needless to say, when I came back to school a few days later covered in bandages and bruises they were understandably worried, but I dismissed their thoughts of pity with an idea I had come up with.

Since writing was able to bring me happiness, why not try and become a professional at it? I was never an ambitious person, but if I could at least manage to earn some money with my stories I may have been able to escape my father right? For the first time in my life I had the  opportunity to choose what I wanted to do about my situation, and although calling the authorities may have been the best option at the time, for someone as cowardly as me working in secret was the correct path.

Time proved me right. Not a few months after I sent my manuscripts to one of the many editorials in town I received good news. My stories, although brought to life from a dark desire to leave a mark in the world of my existence, proved to be more popular than I gave them credit for. They had sold out. All of them.

I cried. I laughed. And while I received this news on the street, my linked events of good luck were cut short as I failed to notice the truck moving at ridiculous speeds through the street towards me.

That day I died, and my dreams were dragged along with me. The worst part of my death was the irony that it brought to my mind. At last I had made the first few steps to achieve my one objective in life, and I was cut short from even just that.

But for some reason fate didn't want me to waste this newfound ambition. Maybe it was the whim of a God, or maybe it was just the actual afterlife events I heard so much about on TV, but my mind was dragged away in my last moments of life before the pain of the impact could reach me.

I was dragged away for what felt like an eternity. I stared into the darkness searching for some sort of tunnel. That's what one was supposed to look for right? A light at the end of a tunnel. Unlucky yet again, I was not granted eternal rest. Instead I woke up in an unfamiliar bed.

I opened my eyes to glance around my surroundings, the bed was bigger than necessary. The room itself seemed enormous and graciously decorated with marble and carved stone. Leaving behind trails of gold and silver alongside the walls, the curtains swayed gently as the morning breeze caressed them with great care.

I tried to sit up but my head was struck with the most awful of headaches, so painful in fact that I was left with no choice but to voice my pain in an elongated cry of help. As if he had been waiting behind the door for a long while already, a middle-aged man rushed into the room and to my side with a worried look in his face. For some reason his features appeared familiar to my mind. A clean short beard adorned his sharp jawline while his eyes were decorated with a few wrinkles that showed his age. His long maroon hair gently rested upon his shoulders and back, giving the man a noble look but a ragged nature to his appearance.

As I took in his appearance into my mind, the headache started to gently calm down. I still moved my hands to the sides of my head, feeling as if my brain was about to burst my skull open. Crying in pain, the man embraced me as he spoke to me at a low volume, his voice silenced by the pain invading my head, I was unable to hear much of what he said, except for one sentence. One sentence that I managed to hear before I fainted from fatigue and the headache fully subsided.

"It's okay Lena...I'm here with you. Everything's okay."

Such sweet words I had never once heard in my entire life managed to bring calm into my heart. Whoever this man was...He certainly seemed to care for me, even if I didn't recognize the nickname he was using to call for me.

But as my consciousness faded away into darkness, the faint thought of his appearance, his voice and his words brought the familiar feeling in my mind to a sense of recognition from my memories. Ah, surely after death I was dragged into the novel I wrote. Normally one wouldn't be so calm about this situation, but as I fainted into a deep sleep and I went over my death once again, at the very least I could be happy that my father wouldn't be there when I wake up. And that sad thought finally brought peace to my mind as I drifted off to sleep. 

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