The Gift from Death~1~

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  • Dedicated to Reuven ... you know who you are ;)

Chapter 1

*Dillan James*

I'm in a hospital; all I can see is an endless white ceiling with florescent lights as the paramedics wheel me in on a gurney. The last thing I can remember is sitting in the back seat of my parent’s car.

The view outside was sunny and bright, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. My dad was behind the wheel with my mom next to him. She was singing along to "Shake It" by Metro Station with me, as my dad laughed because neither of us had a great singing voice. As we sang there was a sound like a gunshot then all of a sudden the car veered to the right and my head hit the window and my world went black.

I woke up later to blaring sirens and someone shouting that the girl was still breathing. Next thing I knew I was in an ambulance with an oxygen mask on my face and people telling me to relax and breath. All I could think about that entire time in the ambulance was how a perfect day had gone so wrong, and little did I know that it was my parents' last day ever.

* * *

"Hurry up Dillan, or we are going to be late for history!" exclaimed Blaike. Blaike Adams is my best and only friend. She was short around 5"3, just like me but she had this look of innocence to her but I knew she was far from that. Blaike is a petite redhead with an attitude as fiery as her hair. Her eyes were this vibrant shade of green that was swirled with hints of gold. She has fair skin and a flawless complexion. We have known each other since we were born and we do everything together. After the accident Blaike was there for me and let me cry on her shoulder when I found out my parents hadn't made it out alive, and again when I saw the obituary in the newspaper. Blaike even convinced her mom let me live with them since the rest of my family is dead. Blaike knows every little thing about me, except that I didn't come out of the crash the same.

What Blaike doesn't know is that with just one touch I can tell you exactly how and approximately when someone will die.

I already know that Blaike will die when she is in her late 40's because her abusive husband will have beaten her to death when she didn't have dinner on the table when he came home. I found out about this when I was still in the hospital. At the time though I thought it was just the pain medication making me have these awful nightmares because every time someone touched me I would see them dying. Now I realize that it is just the gift of death, or at least that's what I like to call it even though it's more like a curse. Since it only happens when someone touches my bare skin I wear long sleeves and jeans all the time to minimize the amount of deaths I have to witness every day.

"Dillan, Come on!" Blaike shouted as she pulled me out of my thoughts. She was starting to get impatient with me, she hated being late for anything, as for me I really couldn't care less. I hurried up any way partly to make her happy and also because I love history. By the time we got to the class we were 5 minutes late. Blaike was a little angry at me but by the end of class she will be over it. It's not like I had purposely planned on making us late because it's the one class that I actually enjoy.

We took our seats and Mr. Wiskineuki (we call him Mr. Whisky for short because he always slurs his words like he's drunk) continued on with his lecture. I sit in the back of the class between the wall and Connor Mercer. Connor is the hottest and most sought after guy in the school, all the girls including Blaike swoon if he so much as glances in their direction; every girl except me that is. I just don't see what's so great about Connor I mean sure he looks like a freaking Abercrombie model with a tall, athletic build of about 6"2, his perfectly styled raven black hair, and eyes that looked like a never ending abyss of blue. His attitude however is what stopped me from swooning every time he looked at me. He was a typical player he treats all girls like they are just objects to be used by him then discarded. I was determined to never be one of those girls who was used then thrown away, which is why Connor is the one thing I don't like about my history class.

Usually I can deal with him sitting next to me because he pretty much ignores me but today he seemed to be a little absent minded and he dropped the papers Mr. Whisky was passing back. Naturally I started to help Connor pick up the papers since one of them was mine when his hand lightly brushed against mine.

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