15 years later...
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Dementium or William Redmoor. They belong to the most awesome Renegade Kid. (I think. ;))
I am alone, and thirty years old. Alone in a hospital full of the living dead. The whole hospital is in a state of disrepair. I don't know how it first happened. I was a normal child, living a happy life.
"William, what would you like in your sandwich for lunch today?" My Mother asked. Those were the days. I was only eight, and so innocent. Still in school. Year four.
"Jam please, Mummy!"
"Oh, darling! Your teeth are going to fall out some day, you know. But I'll give it to you for a treat." My Mum said, playfully.
She was a beautiful woman. Stunning, flowing blond hair. Crystal clear blue eyes. She wasn't married, and she had two other children. One, Felicia, and the other, Phillip. They were twins. I was the ugly duckling of the three, and was born a year and three months after Felicia and Phillip.
Felicia had her Mother's hair, and chestnut brown eyes. She liked wearing a red dress most of the time.
Phil had his Mother's eyes, and he had white-blonde hair. He liked wearing a light blue t-shirt that read "I didn't do anything!"
Then there was me. Mousy brown hair. Grey eyes. I didn't like any particular clothes; I just took something out of my closet and wore it. My family were lovely people. If only I had realised. Then I wouldn't have taken them for granted. How did it happen?
By this time, my mum was very sick. It was hard; I was only ten. She had cancer. While our mum was sick, we had to go to our aunt's house, so mum could get time to herself.
"Auntie Harriet, what's going to happen to mum?" Felicia asked, once we had gathered our suitcases and got to our aunt's house.
"I don't know." Auntie Harriet answered, honestly.
"But she's going to be okay, right?" I asked, suddenly extremely anxious.
"I don't know." Auntie repeated. "Even if she is all right, she'll have no hair for a while."
"No hair? But why?" I enquired.
"Because she has to have this thing called Chemotherapy. It makes you lose your hair.
"kee-mo-ther-a-pee? What's that?" Phillip asked, eyes bulging.
"It's a... mediciney... sort of thing... that boosts your chances of survival when you have cancer." My aunt said, patiently.
"! I seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" All three of us said in unison.
A few months later...
Auntie Harriet walked into the room. Slowly, solemnly. Perhaps even gravely. But it wasn't the way she walked that caught my attention the most. It was her facial expression. It looked strangely shadowed. I could tell my two siblings were also feeling the horrible, heavy, smothering, deadly silence. It was definitely he sort of silence you get when one of your close relations die.
No. Please no. I'm begging you; please don't say she's died. Please.
I could almost sense my two relations thinking the same thing.
No-one wanted to break the spellbinding, horrific silence.
"I'm ju-"Auntie's voice cracked. She cleared her throat, and tried again. "I'm just going to come out with it. Your mum- she's-"she burst in to tears, at the same time as us three. She didn't need to finish the sentence.
It just- it didn't- it- it didn't feel like it was real. I'm crying now, just thinking about it. And I'm thirty!
Me and my brother and sister, faces dirty with tears.
I can't believe it. Oh, God, no. I'm going to wake up in a second, I know. It just cannot have happened.
Through sobs and gasps of air, I managed, "auntie, who's going to look after us now?"
Auntie answered- through more gasps and sobs- "I'm not quite sure, but probably me."15 years later...
Guess what? No-one else had died in my life for 15 years! I was 25. Me and my siblings were in different houses though. I didn't really mind being in a house by myself. That is, until that one fateful day in 2006, October. I fell ill and I went to that terrible, deadly, disease-ridden hospital. What happened in there? I can't tell you. I can't remember much. I only remember waking up on a blood-drenched wheelie bed, seeing a face covered up mostly by a black cloth and falling through a hole. That was before... before my troubles started.