𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒊

~ 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ~

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hannah's eyes snap open, all feelings of exhaustion forgotten, and sits up, covering herself with whatever was close enough;

A blanket? She grips it tighter and looks across what seems to be a hospital room. The stale, cold white of the barely decorated walls stands in contrast with the warm sunlight flooding the room. On the bedside table are a glass of water and a vase with a bouquet of, what seems to be, a freshly cut, peach rose. Apart from the flower and the man, clad in a suit in front of her, the room is completely white.

Wait; a man? What?

"No. No! No, no, no! This isn't happening!" Hannah panics. She didn't die? Those bastards must have found her at the bottom of the cliff and brought her here. They would come back and finish her off. She moves the thin blanket off of her and scrambles to stand up.

"I have to get out of here!" Hannah walks past the tall man with a clipboard, who seems to be completely unbothered by her outbreak. Her hand touches the cool metal of the doorknob when he stops her.

"And where exactly are you intending to go, Mrs. Sinclair? I am terribly sorry to say, but you cannot leave," he pushes his glasses up making them reflect some of the light. He didn't look sorry. "You are dead, Mrs. Sinclair. Due to the... let us say, circumstances of your passing, you will be a grim reaper recruit from now on."

Hannah had turned towards him before he finished. She steps closer to him with an incredulous look. When they are only two steps apart from each other, the man looks at her with disdain before turning his eyes towards the wall. A slight redness spreads on his cheeks and ears.

"What the hell kind of drugs did they put you on?" She asks with an unbelieving laugh.

The man's eyes widen but he quickly composes himself before he clears his throat. He looks away from her, again.

"I can assure you, I am not under the influence of any substance whatsoever! Honestly, such crude language does not do a woman any good, Mrs. Sinclair."

Hannah ignores his warning, "Alright, so we are in a mental institution. I understand. If that's how he wants to control me, so be it." She crosses her arms and looks out the window.

Two doves are sitting on the window sill while people walk in and out of tall buildings, taller than any she had ever seen. How peculiar, she thinks, noticing how every person below is wearing spectacles and a suit, even the women!

"Honestly, this woman..." the man grumbles. "I can assure you, you died a few hours ago, Mrs. Sinclair, you were there for heaven's sak-"

"Prove it to me," she interrupts.

"Pardon me?"

"I said: Prove. It. To. Me." she punctuates each syllable with a poke on his chest. "If you say that 'from now on, I will be a grim reaper recruit', prove it to me. How, when, and why did I die? You would know if you are, what I assume, a reaper yourself."