Death, what does it really mean? Is it… the passing away of a relative? No, I don't think so. No one ever really dies; their memory still lives on, on earth. So what is death exactly? In a dictionary it says: the ending of all vital functions or processes in an organism or cell. I guess that is death in a scientific view, but what about the normal view?
Well, I can tell you. Let's say that I'm your average girl. No, actually I'm not. I'm a necromancer, a medium. Every night, I talk to ghosts and spirits that are cursed to stay in this world.
I had a perfect life. My father, who was a very wealthy doctor, married my mother who was an excellent attorney. Together, they had made millions a month. We were rich, no not rich, FILTHY rich. A year after they were married, they had me. I was two months premature and was so thin and scrawny when I was born. Then, to make it worse, I was diagnosed with Leukemia. My parents were probably ready to disown me, but when I turned two, the doctor proudly announced that my Leukemia miraculously disappeared. As I said, my life was perfect; huge house, best school, A marks, and maids and servants. It was absolutely perfect; until the accident.
My mother was killed, no murdered. She was murdered by a man that had raped her. My mother, raped. At the viewing, her face was so torn up it gave me nightmares for years on end. My father thought of cremating her so that no one would see that state that she was in, but the funeral was over before any of us knew it. Afterwards, everything started to crumble apart. My father, so overwhelmed by sadness told me to come with him. I did. He tried to kill me. Of course he did not succeed, but he killed himself in front of me. He stabbed himself with a knife, straight in between his eyes. It was a long knife, so it stuck out from the back of his head. He had stood there for a moment, then it was like his eyes rolled back and he fell in a heap onto the floor.
I screamed. My maid, Ferida, had come. She rushed through the door and took one glance at me screaming and my dead dad. She went up to me and hurriedly covered my eyes with her hand. I was still screaming while she was whispering to herself, "Oh my god, oh my god." She carried me out of the room and called the other servants.
They had cleaned up the mess. My father's suicide remains unknown to his day. We reported him missing and then the case was closed. I was an orphan.
My family's huge fortune was left for me until I came of age. Right now, I am 13. My mother was murdered when I was eight, my father committed suicide when I was 9. I am Xora Akina.