2Let me just get this out of the way and tell you, that I actually don't remember how it happened, but I know how it felt. In fact, I can hardly remember anything. It took me like two minutes to remember my name, but that was because it was drilled in there, and said every three seconds and embedded in every sentence.
The doctors say that accident has, instead of worsening my body, improved my senses. Oh, I'm no superhero. But for some reason, after being a coma for about eighteen months, I'm fine. No, I'm better; faster, stronger, smarter, prettier, lighter and fuller.
Well, I guess now that I've gloated, I should explain. My name is November, and to be honest my name is stupid, considering the fact that I was born in April and April is a real name. I'm eighteen years old and I have three very close friends, one of which is involved in the story.
We walked to school together, my car broke down a week before and Ana failed her driving test every single time. Ana, someone close enough to me to be sisters, is always irresponsible, never watching or thinking just doing and speaking. We were talking about- probably nothing important and she didn't look. Bystanders said that the stupid idiot didn't look when she crossed the road. And I being the selfless person that I am pushed the moron out of the way. Doctors told me I got a car in the face. They told me that it happened so suddenly that none of the other five cars that ran over my body could stop or even see me. I was mangled and far from saving.
Oh and guess what? I got into the Guinness Book of World Records, as the person who died the most number of times in the span of twenty four hours. It was twenty, by the way. I died twenty times. Twenty!
People thought I was a hero. I'm no hero. To be honest, I knew was going to die, but that's what I wanted. I now realised that I was tired of myself. Apparently before the accident, I was on anti-depressants for two years. So obviously, I just seized the opportunity. I'm glad though, that I'm alive and that I jumped in front of the bus. Because I really want to see the looks on the people at school's faces when they see me. My helper told me that as far as they know, I died after my sixteenth death- if that makes any sense. I want to see the horror on Ana's face; Ana my 'sister', Ana my best friend and Ana, person who didn't ever visit me in hospital. So what if I don't remember what she looks like! She just has to see me and I'll know.
Apparently, being in a coma has given my brain a chance to develop and my bones to repair and grow. The rounded bulge of my stomach and thighs has wasted away and flattened. Ahh! The effects of being drip fed. My waist has narrowed and my breasts have grown. My hair has lengthened but will obviously need some work. And in the absence of greasy foods my face cleared of any acne and my eyes brightened.
So now we're in present time. I stand, decked out in my modified school uniform, in front of the classroom door. Bright red colouring smeared across my pierced lips and thick black gloop melded to my lashes. My feet encased in black Converse and my bright, red nailed hands, wrapped in black fingerless gloves. And my hair, long, dark and shiny from being washed and conditioned, is up high in an earring revealing pony-tail, with my fringe swept up into a quiff.
I step into the room and there's an audible gasp that makes me grin inwardly in delight. I search, eyes darting from face to face, for Ana. And I spot her. Lank greasy hair, overflowing stomach, acne covered face contorted into a grimace. Pretty cliché isn't it?
"Hi. I'm November Austen. Remember me? I don't remember you."