“Welcome back Eleanor Foster”

by Izabella LANNIN




Every moment of my life has been a dramatic one. From when I was born and I was immediately sent into surgery, through my teens where I couldn’t have been more out of place, up until a day ago, when my heart stopped beating.

My eyes slowly flutter open, giving them enough time to get used to the unusual brightness of my surroundings. My body feels stiff, and my bones ache from staying in the same position for too long on the cold hard mattress I woke up on. Around me, the room is bare, void of any decoration and any sign of human life, apart from the lone bed leaning against one of the four walls, and a brown door opposite it. A stale smell floats through the air, and it couldn’t be described as anything else but the stench of death. Cold, hard death.

As I take in my surroundings, I push myself onto my shoulders before swinging my legs over the bed and planting my feet on the floor. It’s just as cold as the temperature in the room, not high enough to keep you warm, but just low enough to leave a chill travelling through your body every now and then. I move to stand up, but before I’m able to, the door flies open and a small man with a clipboard, who looks to be in his late 20s, enters. He’s dressed in a black suit with a tie to match and on his feet is a pair of shiny dress shoes. His head is adorned by an equally dark beret embroidered with the letters G and R in silver thread.

“Ah I see that you’re awake. Hello and welcome to the afterlife.