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The Prologue: Wherein an idiot dies because of a dare, a baby is born and the fabric of the universe is ripped.

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I feel like I should be starting this off by telling you my earlier assumptions of what death was, and what it was not; but that would only lead to me telling you that I really hadn't assumed anything. I didn't know if it was a bottomless void, a recycled life as an ant or a reach-around from Jesus. I had never really cared, either. Dying was one of those things that are definitely going to happen to you and to everybody and everything someday, but at the same time, it wasn't. I was the kind of person that would say, "If I die" instead of "When I die".

I would like to say in conjunction with that, that I knew I wasn't invincible. I had broken my arm, bled from a scraped knee and had every second that I had ever experienced flash before my eyes in a car accident, but death had resulted in none of those events. I guess my thought process, without ever really having a thought about it, had been "Well, shit. Haven't died yet, won't die tomorrow." I was healthy, barely seventeen and was several houses down from Death's doorstep. I, because apparently I was worthy of eternal life, was not going to die.

But I did. And unfortunately, it was entirely my fault, because I'm a fucking tool that makes very bad decisions.

I was intoxicated- very much so. I was also a little high, a little depressed and a little bit more peer pressured than I was willing to admit. I had spent the weeks and months before this day relentlessly beating into my own head the equations and the facts I would need for the SAT exams, and the only way for me to release built up frustration other than breaking things, was an obscene amount of alcohol and other slightly more illegal substances. So therefore, I, along with a few kind of-friends and a maybe-boyfriend did one of those things- the one that did the least amount of damage to our surroundings, but likely damage to our livers and brain cells.

We were on the beach, but my mind was a million miles away from them and from myself. It was nearly five in the morning, and to everyone it concerned (I.e. my parents), I was tucked into my bed with the weight of the exams that determined my future off of my already worn shoulders. But I wasn't, and at that point I really wished that I had been. They were talking loud, but I wasn't at all. I never had doubted that anyone of them would pass, and I don't think they did, either. I had pumped my heart with so much anxiety beforehand that I was heavily unsure of my success, and as much as I just wanted to feel hollow, I didn't. It was one of the rare times when alcohol had failed me.

"A-aye, uh, Leda, are you l-listening?" the sentence was spoken in between hiccups, and I almost didn't hear it over the sound of the relentless wind around me. It was that maybe-boyfriend I had mentioned before, his hand on my thigh and a joint being passed from him to the twat sitting next to him. I had in fact not been, so I shook my head for my answer. He looked a bit aggravated, but filled me in on what I had missed. "I said it's your turn." It was then that I noticed two of the girls that were presumably straight were practically eating each other, their boyfriends transfixed on them like they were twelve and seeing a titty for the first time.

"'The fuck for?" Had been my reply. I snatched the bottle of vodka from the person sitting next to me and swallowed half of it in one hard gulp. I was entirely underwhelmed, and was pretty sure that whatever they were playing, I wasn't interested in being a part of. But I would end up being, anyway, and he knew it, too. He not-so-gently took the bottle from my hands and downed the rest of it, wiping any of the remains from his lips on his sleeve. He wasn't a bad person, but he definitely wasn't an incredible one, either. I should've just stuck with girls.

"Truth," A loud burp, directed in the face of the twat from earlier. "…or dare." And apparently, we were twelve. I looked to him, to the seven others sitting in the circle whose eyes were now on me, and my long fingers that were digging their nails into the skin on my knees. I felt like that one basic white kid in the straw-man scenarios they present to you during D.A.R.E, and they were the sketchy hood rats forcing cannabis into my lungs (even though I was the one that scored the pot, but I digress). If I just said, "Fuck you", I'd never hear the end of it. So I weighed my options. Truth, and I knew exactly what they'd ask about me- do you miss girls? Would you ever have a threesome?-or something equally as sexual and generally stupid. And I knew that if I chose dare, they'd demand I kiss my ex-girlfriend that came tonight just to spite me, or to go down on my dumb boyfriend in front of everyone, because that's what happened last time and they were incredibly predictable. If my best friend hadn't been in college half way across the country, I wouldn't even be seen with these knobs.

But I suppose that's ancient history now.

I sighed, letting the breath out through my nostrils. The sharp, salty air whipped strands of my hair across my face, the impact leaving a slight sting. I looked beyond the head of the person sitting across from me, to the roaring waves of the ocean. As I listened to the loudness of the waves as they slapped together, I felt an odd sense of calm wash over me. It was that moment that I realized that I didn't care what they decided they wanted to hear or see me do, and I think that revelation startled me more than anything they could ever throw at me. I guess the prospect of a directionless future could cause a person extreme mental distress. Who knew?

"Dare." The word left my lips with little conviction. They looked a little surprised, and I was too, in a way. An action held so much more weight than a forced confession, but there was something deep within myself that was saying, "Fuck it." So figuratively, I did.

"Ok, ok…good choice." The probably-won't-be-for-long boyfriend said then, and despite the darkness I saw a glint in his eyes that couldn't have held any innocent intentions. "I dare you," He looked over his shoulder at the raging waves behind him, then the small cliff that people often dived into the water off of. My eyes widened slightly, but the alcohol that was running through my veins at the moment prevented me from feeling any trepidation of the events to come. "…I dare you, to strip butt ass naked, jump into the water from that big ass rock and skinny dip." There was a gasp or two, a few laughs and several people that looked at him like he was insane, but I was among none of them. I was way more drunk than I ever should have considered being, and any inhibitions I had had earlier in the day were long gone. I let my head fall back, a small laugh emanating from my throat.

"Y…you know what? Fuck it. Fuck it! Fine. Fine, I'll do it." I stumbled as I stood, being caught by the genius that came up with this bright idea and the girl that had been sitting on my other side. They all gave me questioning looks, and more than half of them asked me to sit down, called my boyfriend a shithead and threatened to call the cops. That idea was quickly demolished by the fact that we had almost a full bag of weed, two more cases of beer and a bottle of rum sitting out in plain sight. I drug my feet through the sand, the granules getting under my nails and in between my toes. On the way, I peeled off my clothes, throwing them in places I might not find them later, but didn't care. I laughed and skipped, tripping several times as people tried to catch up to me as my skip turned into a jog. Tears wanted to fall from my eyes, but I couldn't find a good reason to let them. I was a solid swimmer, and had swam drunk plenty of times, even if an ocean is entirely different than a pool. I pulled myself up the rocks, the jagged edges scratching my skin. I got to the top, and was quickly surrounded by the people that were begging me not to do it, and in hindsight, I should have listened to them. But I guess thats why they say it's 20/20.

I stared down at the water, pulling off my underwear in the process. I brushed the hair out of my face with trembling hands, raking my nails over my scalp as I did so. I didn't have to do this. I could climb back down, find my clothes and go home. I didn't have anything to prove to them; no, but I felt like it was something I needed to prove to myself. I always let my anxiety and insecurities hold me back, from social situations to things I wanted to achieve. I was a pussy, and I didn't know if I thought that jumping into the goddamn ocean would prove that I wasn't, but I was gonna do it anyway.

"Honestly, Leddy, I didn't think you'd make it this far. Shanes' got most of your clothes, we could just head back." I felt his hand on my shoulder, but shook it off with one sloppy motion. I felt… surprisingly content. The shore wasn't far from where I'd be landing. I could swim back to land with ease. I'd be fine. I wasn't going to die. Then, once that was over, I was going the fuck home whether if I had to walk or not.

"No…no, I've got this." Despite that, he caught a hold of my arm right before I jumped, and let go with a yell as I fell to the splashing waves. I yelped as the ice cold water permeated my senses, and my lungs took in a disgusting amount of salt water. I flailed my arms relentlessly, like I had somehow forgotten how to swim the second my body hit the water. Panic settled in quickly, and it was pretty much then that I realized I was in fact going to die, and it was entirely my fault.

It's an odd feeling, knowing that you're going to die. It's like the stages of grief are put on fast forward without a point where you can pause. I think what's worse, is that you go over all of the things you could have done differently to prevent this from happening. For some people, maybe they come to no conclusions. This was bound to happen. But for me, every single second of my death could have been avoided, had I made one decision differently. But I stopped thinking about that, after a while. My body was just as weak and tired as my mind was, and after several minutes that had drug on like hours had passed, I stopped fighting. And it was terrible, because my last thought before I left was how I would have managed had I not passed my SATs. Here is where I usually would've made a snide remark about how utterly fucked the American school system was, but there was a time and place for everything, and this wasn't it.

And even though I knew my heart had stopped beating, I could faintly identify the sound of another body splashing into the water. Instead of arms wrapping around my shoulders to pull me up, what felt like strong arms tightened around my thighs, pulling me deeper and deeper into the water below. I looked up for a split second, and saw what I guess was my body being pulled to the surface. For several moments, I felt nothing. It was like my conscience was simply existing in a void of complete nothingness. And then, it was white. A bright, glaring sort of whiteness that wouldn't disappear even if you closed your eyes.

I wondered then if I had been able to tell the tale, if this would prove someone's right and wrong about dying. There was a definite disconnect between me and my body, and this was definitely a blinding white light, sans gates. So what did this prove? What was happening? Was I in heaven? If I was, did I even deserve it? But none of those questions really got an answer, because it was then that I was suddenly screaming, and my lungs felt very, very small. And it was then, that I realized that everything I had never assumed about death was neither wrong nor right. Because there had been a blinding white, a bottomless void and a moment where my physical body and spiritual had been severed, and then the latter sewn back onto something entirely different. Except, I was definitely not an ant.