Dear Fang

Chapter III

Chapter III

So before you start reading, keep in mind that there has been some action that, to Naima, would have been completely crazy. Wit hthis in mind, I realized that Naima would have to face some explanation on what happened. DADADUM! time for some revelation.

Keep in mind that I WILL NOT change the POV to anyone else but Naima in this entire story. So her getting information from other perspectives will be her overhearing or dreaming or something of those sorts. In this chapter, Naima is on the brink of consciousness and overhearing people talking. 

*Photo below of Annabelle :)

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Am I in hell?

That was the first thought that flew through my mind--I mean with all of the despicable crap that I did in my life, I couldn’t have imagined myself anywhere else. But the absolute lack of pitchforks and blistering flames made me think twice; In fact, there had been a lack of everything sans blackness. So I took a moment to reflect:

After a few moments of furious consideration, I came up with three different possible conclusions:

-I was probably dead; having been killed by a dubious cloaked man presumably a deed done in the spur of the moment-- for doing absolutely nothing.

-If I was alive, Annabelle was going to get a serious grilling on her pretty little ass.

- And lastly, if I was in fact dead, I was going to have to serve at least a millenium of torture in the great H-E-double- hockeysticks for all the destruction I had caused when alive. And I didn’t even get a chance to bring any sunscreen.

I mulled on the three possibilities that my mind had spat out, then came to a conclusion.

Seeing that all I saw was blackness, I predicted the former; I was in fact dead.

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They say that when you’re about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes; like a movie.Or in my case, an X-rated film that would probably be banned in 37 different countries.

I felt sort of ripped off. The only thing X-rated I had come by recently was the copy of 'Fifty Shades Of Grey' I had snagged from my colleague's desk.

It was completely silent for the longest time. It also didn’t help that I had absolutely no inkling where I was, due to my loss of feeling. It appeared that  I had been reduced into a non-entity. I had no matter. I was rendered completely numb.

Let me tell you, it was more unsettling than the thought of Charlie Sheen swearing an oath of celibacy.

Then I heard a buzzing sound. You know, like the sound you hear when you’re next to a particularly troublesome little insect. Had I possessed any motor ability, I would have furiously swiped my hands at my surroundings, trying to rid myself of this bloody irritating noise.

Before, I had thought Van Gogh completely apeshit for slicing off his ears when they had said to have rung; I thought he was making a mountain out of a molehill, given his reputation for being clinically insane and all.

Now I understood Van Gogh’s plight.

But the buzzing didn’t stop--no just the opposite happened.

It got louder. And louder. I was on the verge of going karate-chop insane when all of a sudden, the buzzing morphed into voices.

“-the fuck?” One of them bellowed, “did you think you were doing?” I flinched internally at the sudden use of the explicate.