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She didn’t know what to expect after death.
She has vague memories of being a young child and being told about Heaven, and how that’s where good people went.
She has more recent memories of being told she’d go to Hell, because she was a mistake by God.
Which one is true, she can’t tell you.
Katrina always thought that Heaven was a kingdom in the clouds, and Hell was deep underground and constantly on fire.
She’s in neither of those places right now.
Instead, she’s in a stark black void, her own body, now the same shade of black, is outlined by white. It’s eerie and unnerving, and completely unnatural to everything she’s ever known.
And Katrina knows she died. She remembers the long, painful hours she spent bleeding out on the kitchen floor for doing absolutely nothing. By her own father’s hand, no less.
Katrina should be dead, but she somehow isn’t .
And that terrifies her.
She looks at her goopy, melting body. Some thing like her doesn’t deserve a proper name, not anymore.
“My name is K,” She says into the empty blackness, her own voice feeling unfamiliar on her tongue.
No normal person lives after being killed, nor comes back as something so horrific.
She isn’t normal anymore.
Maybe she never was.