Cecelia walked through the wall; it felt as though she was walking through a cold mist, as if she was walking through a cloud. She walked through the entire mist and, well, she was okay. She entered another room, just like hers. On the hospital bed lay a teenage girl. There was a sign at the foot of the bed.
‘ Leah Johnson, 18 ‘
So that was her name. Leah. She was very pretty. She had dark blonde wavy hair, light olive skin, and small lips. She didn’t seem sickly, she was plus size, the complete opposite of thin, fragile Cecelia.
Cecelia looked around the room. She wanted to know more about this girl. Leah was alive. Cecelia could hear all the monitors around the room beeping uniformly. The room was empty. Did Leah, too, not have a family?There was a blue file on the nightstand. Cecelia picked it up. It was titled 'LEAH'.
‘Leah Johnson, 18.’
‘Suffered a severe car crash on 26 April 2022. 3 broken ribs. Right arm and right leg heavily bruised. Low survival rate.’
That was all. So Leah came here a day before Cecelia. Before Cecelia could find any more clues to learn more about Leah, there was a loud, high-pitched, monotone beep. Leah was flatlining.
LEAH WAS FLATLINING.
But was sitting up.
SHE WAS SITTING UP.
Cecelia froze. Leah, the girl who was supposed to be dead, walked over to her and said, “I am ready, please take my place.” Cecelia just stared with her mouth open. Her brain felt like liquid. If she shook her head, maybe water would come out of her ear.
“Green,” Cecelia said. “Your eyes are green.” But that was all. Suddenly there was a bright flash of light. Cecelia closed her eyes. She felt like she hadn’t slept for four days. She fell to the floor.
She woke up, God knows how many hours later. Time was irrelevant right now, a dead woman had just spoken to her. She sat up in a bed. Oh, she was in a bed. She was in a room. A hospital room. She got off the bed. Her actions felt real. She was very aware of her actions for some reason. She felt no pain in her body. She felt a little taller.
She reached the foot of the bed. Her heart stopped. “What just- What happened- Wha-?” Words had failed her. There was a sign at the foot of the bed.
‘ Leah Johnson, 18 '
She rushed to a door in the hospital room. She entered the bathroom and stared in the mirror. “Green” she said, “My eyes are green.” She was Leah. Her hair was blonde, her skin was olive and she looked energetic, somehow. She left the bathroom and walked to the nightstand near the bed. There was a red file there.
‘Leah Johnson. Flatlined at 1:37 a.m. Seems to be fully recovered. Bone injuries are gone. One scar on the head remains No family record. Lives alone at 42 Mary Street. Intern at fashion school. ’
There was no more information. Cecelia, sorry, Leah, (well Cecelia was the new Leah now) decided she was going to that fashion school. She didn’t give Cecelia a good life, but Leah was definitely going to get one. Nobody gets a second chance at life to waste it.
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