Heir of Death

Dedicated to one of the peple who made my covers for this story. x

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Prologue

I never much thought about death. I mean, I was sixteen, I had loads of time to plan my funeral. That was my first mistake, in fact, I’d go as far to say that most young people make the very same mistake. The mistake in thinking that since your young, death can’t touch you. It’s almost as if we think that being young earns us the right to be reckless and uncaring of the consequences, which leads me to my second mistake. Carelessness.

It was night time, not long after midnight and I was walking home from my friend Lloyd’s house. He’d been having a party and everyone had all got a little drunk, myself included, anyway, to some it up, the police were called for the noise and everyone scattered. (What a bad friend am I right?) So, here I am walking the twenty minute drive home and that brings me to mistake number three: Stupidity. Drunken Stupidity.

It made sense in my head at the time, now though, as I look back, I was an idiot. Who the bloody hell thinks that dancing on an active train track is ‘awesome’? Drunken fools that’s who.

As I stood there with my eyes closed, dancing with my arms in the air, signing ‘Die Young’ by Kesha, I never heard the fucking train. Ironic? Absolutely. Awesome? Not so much.

A flash of blinding white light and a blaring honk later and I’m dead with a dark cloaked figure and Death’s cocky smirk staring right at me, telling me that my sweet ignorance earned me a place as his chosen Heir.

Fuck my life. Ha, more irony.

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Let me know what you think and thank you for taking the time to read this. x