"My final meal?" I ask, "that seems slightly morbid." The guard shrugs. He doesn't care, I wonder how many inmates he's lead to the chair, how many of them have died just inches from him, his face being the last thing they see.

"I didn't do it." I say, pointing to the menu he has offered me, chocolate ice cream with sprinkles, my last meal should at least taste good. The guard shrugs again, perhaps it is all he is capable of. He stands and exits the room, and I am alone with my thoughts, my many many thoughts.

How did it all go so wrong... I place my heavy head in my hands, I can feel the straps tightening round my wrists, the cap placed over my head, and the pulsing of electricity through my very soul. My hands begin to shake, I clasp them together, but that just makes it worse. I begin to rock backward and forward, breaths coming in short bursts. I gulp and choke I can't think can't breathe, am I dying now? That would be merciful I close my eyes and pray to let it all end, two hands grab my shoulders roughly.

"Be still." A voice demands. I am no longer rocking, my shoulders shake though are restrained well by the guard. I turn round, he lets go of me in disgust.

"What happened?" Another guard calls through the door.

"Panic attack." The guard calls back. Crap, I turn away, I wasn't dying. Though I would be soon.

One thing I've always hated is melted ice cream, pity that is what I am handed. The rainbow sprinkles have combined with the melted cream to give an off grey colour. I shove the bowl away; I couldn’t eat even if I wanted to my stomach contracts at the thought of what is to come.

"If you don’t eat," the guard began, "then you’re up for the Chair."

I nod, I know my fate.

The straps tighten, just like I'd imagined, a blind fold placed over my eyes, rough, scratchy fabric, though I won’t have to feel it for much longer.

Mary Jane, you are sentenced to death found guilty by a jury in the court of American law, for the murders of twenty people, including your own family.

I roll my eyes, despite no one being able to see.

"Get on with it." I yell.

"Ok." I hear someone say. A lever screeches as it is pulled, I feel a buzz, a wave of warmth and a boiling a searing hot pain. My head thrashes form side to side, my torso rocks, my legs which are tied down jiggle violently. I hear the machine shut off.

"Ok let’s get her to the morgue."

Why can I still hear? I feel someone pull the blind fold form my eyes.

"Surprise!" I say.

There is a place, far from earth, far from space, existing beyond the reach of those alive. To travel to this place, you must first cease to exist, leave your earthly body behind and listen. You must listen until you hear the sound of deaths slow whistle, raspy and shrill. Death will come to find you, long black cloak trickling behind him like water.

For Death to send you to the place you seek, you must tell him how you died, tell your death as if it was a movie. Create twists and turns, it will have to be as engaging as possible for Death to deem you worthy, Death can be picky at times.

Once Death has sent you on, you will travel the light road, it will be as bright as a star, white beams create patterns over the sky, however you cannot dwell on the sights, follow the road as fast as you can, but never run otherwise they will suspect something. Along the roadside spirits sit and beg, you must not speak with them, they are trapped for a reason, never intended to reach the other side.

At the roads end is a vast lake, black liquid laps the shores, a rickety wooden boat sits bobbing on the current. It is here you must have faith, close your eyes, think of flying and breath in and out deeply. If you can do this right, you will take off over the lake, your great feathered wings beating. Look back if you dare, and you will see the ocean demons peer at you, hate blazing in their eyes, pulling the boat back beneath the waves.

Now near your journey's end shall you meet the dueller. An old spirit, though with the energy of a sprite, she will not speak until you ask to pass, tell her that death has sent you, if she accepts this pass by her and enter the void. If she refuses tell her that Nomed has sent you. She will now move aside for you to pass through, and here is where the story ends, though I am sure you are wondering who I am my dear human... For I am Nomed, ruler of the second realm. demoN of all evil.

Snow White with skin like snow... Lips of cherry red. Thats how I look now... well sought off, clown red lipstick, 100 shades to bright. Pale concealer spread thickly, failing to disguise the blueish hues that often form after death, I hate that word "death". Makes me think of life. And I never want to think of life.

One thing of being a ghost is the cold, in haunted places people say they feel a chill, it's like that though more consistent, never-ending bit like being dead.

Being dead, it's a funny thing to be able to say.

I peer round, the mortician enters the room, he's a pretty thing, dark hair flopped over a pale face, and cute round glasses. I wonder if he thinks I'm pretty. I'd like to hear him say it, he won't though. It's weird to compliment corpses.

Floating here actually gives me a really good vantage point. I can see all the nooks and crannies of my former body. Bodies bloat after death, I'm fairly sure so I'm not gonna blame myself for that, but the scars on my wrists. Long slits from funny bone to fingertips, one on each side. Left first, then... That's strange, I don't remember the second cut.

The door to the side of the lit medical theatre opens again, this time revealing a considerably less attractive balding man, in a long white coat.

"Police have requested to see the body." He states then begins to exit.

"Yes." The other man nods quickly. He grabs the end of the trolley and begins to wheel it, out away from me. No! I try to speak, words catching in my throat, I can feel my very being trembling, shaking, screaming. Why were there two cuts, why are the police here... AND HOW DID I DIE!!!

'Hold it in like medicine... The world doesn't want to see or hear your struggles, everyone has there own thing to worry about. You don't want to be a bother. Bottle it up, keep it inside, act normal, no one can know.'

The voice went round and round, repeating itself over and over. It had no name, no identity, though it felt like the one part of me I could trust, had to trust.

"Aunty Kayla?" i looked down. Brett, my five year old nephew asked.

"Yes honey?" I replied, I blinked eyes focused on the ceiling, tears sliding back. I thanked my lucky stars that my mascara hadn't smudged.

"Theres rainbow cake!" Brett grinned. "I went with mumat te my to the bakery and picked it myself." He paused, his train of thought broken. "Um- oh! And do you want some." He beemed, having just remembered what he had come to say.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to have some in a bit." My smile not even close to true. "Especially if you picked it."

"Ok!" Brett tottered off, the tips of his fingers caked with icing.

I glanced round, ready to leave. I didn't want to stay round people eating any longer. If I saw everyone munching on cake, well I might just be tempted to-

'Don't even entertain the idea.' I almost groaned aloud. I slipped further into my quiet corner. Children played party games in the very centre of the room, newspaper from the pass the parcel lay in clumps surrounding them. Streamers hung from the ceiling all variety of colours. A Disney soundtrack poured out of my brother in laws cheap speakers. perched precariously on a stack of draws.

I was ready to leave. I quietly walked past guests, all with paper plates, laughing joyously.

'You don't need them.'

I unlocked my car, climbing in to the drivers seat. Hands on the steering wheel, keys in the ignition, foot lightly tapping the gas- I couldn't drive. Fat tears ran down my cheeks, it was all to much. My vision blurred, as my sobs grew louder. I couldn't breath... I heard a knock on my car door. I took a big sniff, though I could do nothing for the flow from my eyes. I unlocked the car door.

"Hello Aunty, I brought you cake." Brett smiled, a piece of cake laid neatly on a napkin. I sniffed again. Shoving the cake into my trembling hands, Brett expertly climbed on to my lap, hands resting on the steering wheel. He grinned at me, icing now stuck to my steering and dashboard.

Slowly, I nibbled at the cake. Brett followed suit, wiping a big glob of icing off the top into his open mouth. I laughed. He laughed to, continuing to eat icing, slowly we worked through the cake. My shoulders shook and there we sat laughing,

I sighed, ready to take Brett back to the party. Fully aware of my mascara stained cheeks.

"Aunty." Brett said. I looked at him. "That was food cake." I smiled. I knew what I was going through couldn't be held in anymore. And I knew I'd need more help than cake in car, with my adorable nephew, but it was a start at least.

The suns rays pulsated, sending a buzz through the air, reminding me of a summer that was coming to a close. This was the last house. The draw string bag felt heavy on my shoulder. Packets of cookies rustled from within. I tried again.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Hello, do you want some cookies?" I waited, the sun was starting to die, just one more house...

The door creaked.

"Hello?" Came a voice. Locks clicked and revealed a women. Child on her hip, cooeing softly.

"Cookies?" I asked, surely she could grasp from the uniform what I was doing.

"Ah yes!" The lady smiled, eyes glinting. She placed the child on the floor and reached to leaf through my stock, I pulled away.

"Sorry, it's policy that customers don't touch or tamper with the merchandise."

"Oh of course" smiled the women. "You sure sound properly grown up."

"Chocolate or vanilla?" I asked, ignoring the comment.

"How about chocolate." The lady said hand held out.

"$8.95." I replied, bag still held out of reach.

"Right, I'll just get that." She turned, revealing the cream coloured hallway to the rest of the two storey, brick house.

"I can leave these on the table if you want." I stepped in, following her through to the kitchen.

"Here it is dear-" The lady began, turning to face me. I smiled, my kitchen knife now out of the bag, aimed and ready.