Long ago, there was a little girl, she had a talent. It was a very wierd talent to be honest. Eventually she had to move. She had to move to a different country to be exact.
The little girl and her family moved to London, England. They had a new life, a new beginning, but something wasn't quite right. The little girl came down with a horrible sickness. It was months before she had "recovered". Or so her parents thought. 8 months after the girl had moved to London with her family, she had gotten sick. It was horrible, she would barley eat during the course of a week, she grew quite weak and would never leave her bed. 3 months after she had first started to get sick, she hit rock bottom. She had a sickly pale look, her skin was basically translucent and she had a fever of 108 degrees Farenheight. After she had gotten over that, things were beginging to go uphill. Fast. Within the next 3 weeks, she had started eating more, talking, moving around her bed and even to the point where she was relearning to walk. Then one night, after the litle girl fell asleep, her mother noticed somthing wierd about the girl's hands. They were pale again, you could see her blue-green veins under her skin. The veins weren't throbbing. There was no blood circulation at all in the girl. She had no pulse. After her mother had gone to bed, the girl had woken up subconcously and wrote a note and left if on the table beside her bed. She fell back asleep and when her mother came in the next morning to wake the girl up, she found that the girl was dead.
The note read:
"Dear my beloved parents,
You may not have noticed this yet, but I was never living since I had gotten sick. I will be in another person's body. But at my funeral, you MUST put Forget Me Nots inside the coffin with me. If you don't, I will be in a person's dead body. Then in exactly six years, not a day before, or a day after, visit my grave and put roses on my grave. The reason I say this, is because I can never die."
The girl's parents did exactly as the note said. One month after the 6 year aniversary of her death, there came a knock at the door. She looked like an older version of the little girl. The older women with now graying hair and laugh lines around her mouth, opened the door and gasped. The girl walked inside the house and sat down at the kitchen table.
"Hello mother." She girl said as if nothing was wrong.
But the scary thing is, that girl, is me.