քʀօʟօɢʊɛ

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My name is Connie Alma, and this is my story...

Oh God, that sounded so corny. Let's restart. My name is Connie and that was just me trying to get into character. You probably don't know what I'm talking about but if you do know, I'm explaining anyway.

I was fifteen when it happened. Nothing too serious albeit a bit dramatic. I was in the car with my dad and we were returning home from somewhere – maybe the supermarket? Who cares?. Anyway, out of nowhere – maybe not nowhere but I don't know where so you get the gist – another car collides with ours, and me being me go headfirst into the glass.

I died.

But I'm not really worried about that part. I'm actually more worried about my family. I mean losing a daughter and a sister must be really tough. But knowing them as I do I know they'll move on and I'll just be a part of a happy memory instead of being one that brings sorrow, depression, and booze. I mean they better fucking cry if I die – at least the first weeks.

Now, as much of a cliché as it sounds, I thought that when I died that was it. The end. Fini. That I was going to stop. Cease to exist. You get the drift.

But... I couldn't have been more wrong. 'Cause I didn't stop. I woke up again in a place totally different.

It was dark. Darkness all around me. I could see myself but nothing else. Then the darkness started to shift. It began to disperse, and I found myself in one of the places I always wanted to visit. I was standing on a street in Venice! Venice! As in ITALY!

Probably not that big of a deal but going to Italy was always my dream when I was a kid. And Venice was the main city I wanted to go to. This was my dream and now I'm here. Yet I honestly don't know why?

I know I'm dead and this isn't the real Venice. Why? Because it's empty. There are no tourists, locals, animals, life, movement in the water, yadda, yadda. No nothing. It's even kind of creepy. And now that that settled in and my high from being in Italy died, I'm beginning to panic. Where the fuck am I?

"Connie Alma, welcome." A voice, booms from behind me causing me to jump and screech.

"Geez! You fucking scared me!" I say as I look at the really tall man before me. The man has sharp features, piercing grey eyes, and white hair – he's not old though, so it just looks good.

"That was the point." He says simply with a smirk.

"Rude." I scoff. Then I close my eyes take a deep breath and turn to the man again, "Seeing as you already know who I am, it would be neat to know who you are."

"I'm Hades. Pleasure." He says casually – as if being the God of the underworld is normal (for him it might be, though.). Wait!

"Hades?!" I ask, then I start to full-on panic and when that happens I talk, a lot, "Oh no! I'm in hell! I know I was kind of bitchy but that's not enough to go to hell. Oh God, I should have helped elders or at least called my grandparents. Is it because I was always pointing out stuff? I know it was the bad stuff, but I like to tell myself it's just the unfortunate truths that need to be told. Is it because I ignored my family sometimes? I mean if you met them you would also need tiny breaks. Oh God is it because that one time I didn't recycle right and threw the milk carton into the paper bin? No that can't be it. Anyone would do that mistake. It's not because of that party with the cops right? I mean I got out of there before the feds came. I didn't even get scolded unless you count my parents, but they were proud I called before that shit went down. I don't deserve to be in hell. I know I joke about it, but an eternity of torture isn't really my thing and I-"

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