Author's Note: Sheeeeee's baaaaaaaaaack!

Man, I missed you guys! It feels like forever since I talked to you about the random stuff that pops into my head! Anyways, as you've probably already guessed, this is my next big project! I'm super duper (yes, I just said super duper) excited for this, but I'm gunna need you guys to give me your honest opinions of this chapter. Does it seem a bit iffy? Is it worth continuing? Tell me!

And if I do continue, I'd like to apologize in advanced for my sporadic updates. I'm gunna try to update every weekend, but if I have a test or something due that week it's gunna take more time.

Also, if anyone is looking for a beta, I'm open :)

Side-Note: I've decided to include quotes in every chapter. I think they help get you into the mood, don't you think?

---

Disclaimer: Christina walks in on Steph's midnight writing session.

Christina: Watcha' workin' on there, girlie? I thought you were done your story?

Steph: *Eyes twitching, typing like crazy*
It's my new story! I call it, The Boy With The Emerald Eyes!

Christina: *Rolls eyes*
As in, Derek? As in, another Darkest Powers fanfic?! Why don't you take a break and write a Twilight one or something?

Steph: I can't! My fans need me!

Christina: …

Steph: What?

Christina: You do know you don't own DP-

Steph:*Clicks something, music blares from the speakers*
Sorry? What was that? I can't hear you! What's that you say? I own DP AND the plot and all the characters I create for this story?! Awesome!
*Turns back to the computer and begins typing again*

Christina: *Shakes her head and walks away*

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge
-- myth is more potent than history
-- dreams are more powerful than facts
-- hope always triumphs over experienc
-- laughter is the cure for grief
-- love is stronger than death.

-Robert Fulghum

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Accidents

Ten Years Old

The painful screeching sound of the brakes struggling to stop the car and the violent disarray of colours outside my window caused my stomach to lurch. We were spinning out of control; our winter tires no match against the two feet of snow and slush on the deserted highway.

"Mom! Dad!" I'd screamed, though I knew now that they never did hear me.

The car collided with the railing. The airbags deployed, the horn was blaring, but I didn't notice until the fifth or sixth time. The windshield was shattered; glacial winds streaming through the multiple fissures.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned forward. "M-mom? D-dad?" They didn't respond, and their silence sent a shiver down my spine. I climbed into the front seat.

"M-mom? Mom, w-wake up!" I shook her gently with one hand, willing myself to ignore the bloody gashes on her face. When she didn't answer me I blinked back the tears forming behind my eyelids and turned to my father's limp figure.

"D-daddy? W-wake up, pl-please! Mom's not m-moving!" My teeth were chattering as I shook him, obscuring what I was saying. I was stuttering too, but at the time I had thought it was due to the cold.

I could feel the tears gathering on my cheeks as I tried, with no avail, to wake my parents.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew they were already gone. I didn't know much about death at the time, having only attended my Uncle Ben's funeral when I was much younger, but I knew my parents, and they would never play this mean of a trick on me... I shook them again and pleaded with their lifeless forms, feeling the familiar sickening sense of dread in the pit of my stomach when I realized they weren't breathing.

I don't know what compelled me to do it- maybe It was the unbearable cold, or maybe I thought if I went to sleep it would all disappear- but I returned to the back seat, curled up underneath my jacket and fell asleep.

I sat up in bed and put my head in my hands. It was all a dream, of course, but it was one I knew well enough. It had been on "replay" inside my head ever since that night, and I knew that - just like every other night – there was no chance of me waking up until the moment the little girl I had been in my dream fell asleep.

I knew why my subconscious tortured me this way, but that never made it any easier to bear. You shouldn't even be alive, it would whisper to me. You're better off dead, anyway.

And it was true- I shouldn't have been alive. The doctors who had treated me after the accident said it was a miracle that I had only escaped with a few minor injuries, calling it a scientific anomaly because the force of the impact should have caused me to smash my skull against the window.

I shook my head and got up, my feet meeting with the cold cement floor. I tiptoed past the beds of the other sleeping children and slipped out the door and into the hallway.

The social workers in charge of me had dumped me here and left, with nothing but a 'have fun' and a scrap of paper with their numbers on it. I had quickly thrown that away- it was of no use to me. My parents wouldn't be coming back; did it matter if I was unhappy?

I trudged down the narrow hallway, stopping at the bathroom. I shuffled in and locked the door behind me.

I pulled the toilet seat cover down and sat down, crossing my legs. I closed my eyes and thought of my parents, picturing my mother's smile and the times my dad and I had gone out for pizza after my gymnastics competitions – happier times, when all I had to worry about was what outfit I was going to wear the next day and whether my favourite show was on after my bedtime.

"Chloe?" I opened my eyes and smiled.

"Hey mom! I missed you."

"I missed you too, sweetie, but we talked right before you went to bed! Why the sudd- wait, did you have the dream again?" She crinkled her forehead in concentration.

I sighed. "Yeah…"

"Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, wrapping her transparent arms around me. I could've sworn I felt the slightest pressure, but I was probably just imagining it. "You know you don't have to worry about it anymore. What has happened has happened, and we can't change that."

"I know," I murmured. "It's just…seeing it happen, over and over, it's…"

She pulled back and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "I know it's horrible, but it doesn't have to be. Just remember: I'll always be here for you to talk to, just like before, so in a way, nothing has changed!"

But everything else has, I wanted to say. I nodded and smiled instead.

"Thank you, mom. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetie. Now go to bed! You know you have that meeting tomorrow…"

"Okay. Goodnight, mom."

"Goodnight Chloe."

I blinked and she was gone.

I got up and left the washroom, making my way back to the room where I slept, feeling better. My mother and I had been speaking every night since the accident, and every time I talked to her I felt safe and happy again. When she first appeared to me in the hospital, I thought I had gone crazy.

Well, crazier. After waking up in the hospital the day after the crash, I realized there was something seriously wrong with me – I could see people that no one else could see.

I realized this when an old man had limped into my room, wearing – to my extreme horror – nothing but a hospital gown. He limped right up to the doctor and yelled: "You bastard! How hard it is to remember to wash your hands before performing a surgery?" He then proceeded to kick the doctor a few times in the shin.

I watched all of this in extreme confusion as the doctor went on to ask me ridiculous questions with a smile on his face.

"Do you smoke, drink, or inhale any illegal substances?"

"I'm nine and a half years old. What do you think?" I hadn't meant to snap at him, but if the guy was stupid enough to ask questions like that, then there was probably something wrong with him. He asked a few more questions, oblivious to what was going on behind him.

"Excuse me, but who's that mean old guy behind you?" I had asked.

I distinctively remember the look of confusion on his face before he gave me a small smile.

"You mean the nice man in the hallway?" he had asked, talking to me like I was mentally challenged.

"No! The man right there, behind you! Can't you hear him yelling?" His face fell, and I realized then that I was the only person who could see the raving lunatic in the room.

The doctor had picked up my chart and scribbled something in the margins. I knew it couldn't be good, so I tried as best as I could to cover up my earlier lapse in judgment.

"Wait, did you say the hallway? Yeah, that's what I meant! He looks really mean, like a grumpy monster or something! Mommy says I get like that when I'm sleepy…" I trailed off, hoping he'd brush off what I said as a little kid's rambling, the way adults usually did.

Sure enough, the doctor had smiled. "Oh, don't worry about him. He just got some surgery done and his tummy hurts a little."

And that was it. After that day I began to see them (what I soon realized where ghosts) everywhere- the grocery store, the retirement homes we visited, the park… they were everywhere, and the only way I knew what they where was if they happened to walk through something or somebody.

That night in the hospital my mother came to visit me. I greeted her when she arrived, knowing what it meant: she was a ghost too.

My life has changed radically since then. After being released from the hospital I was left in the not-so-capable hands of two bumbling social workers, who had proceeded to send me here. Everyone here was indifferent, and I found myself craving the affection I had received as a child. That was when I began speaking to my mother every night.

I slipped in through the narrow opening in the doorway and climbed into bed, the sound of the brakes screaming in my ears before I even closed my eyes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: So, what do you think? Press that little green button and tell me! Should I continue it? Do you hate it? Tell me!