PROLOGUE:

The morning my life was taken, I was having an excellent day. I woke up before my alarm rang and found my dad cooking my favorite breakfast. Then my usual commute of thirty minutes became fifteen courtesy of the succession of green lights. School was even better; the history paper that I had slaved for more than a month returned to me with a big letter 'A' written at the top. Not only that, but my teacher also gave me a sincere compliment about my work. All I could do after she was done was contain my ego from inflating too much.

I remember thinking to myself on my way home that some primordial deity must have finally heard my prayers of blessing me with good fortune. The sudden positivity was overwhelming. I was basking in my small victories that it did not occur to me that anything could go wrong. Little did I know that my consistent streak of good luck was reaching its climax-that lady luck was leading me to the grand event.

It was so obvious.

It should have been abundantly clear to me that that day was a special day.

Thus, I did not notice it when a car swerved off the road and smacked right into me.

I did not see what it looked like (it was blue), nor did I hear the screeching of tires (it was loud). I only heard the driver blaring its horn and only saw the bumper heading towards me before the impact broke every bone in me and crushed every organ in my body.

(It was painful).

After that was nothing. There were no winged angels singing the hallelujah chorus while the gates of paradise opened; there were no grotesque demons awaiting to skewer me with pitchforks. The afterlife was simply blank—just an infinite expanse of absolute darkness and vast emptiness. I could imagine how it could be hell for some to spend eternity in the void; the silence can be terrifying. I, on the other hand, accepted it and even gave my new home a name: the quiet place.

Time was obsolete in the quiet place. To keep track of how many days have passed since the unforgettable moment I became roadkill wasn't as easy as looking at my wrist watch, especially since I no longer felt like I had eyes anymore (or limbs, for that matter). I was a floating, squiggly mass in oblivion, though some of my awareness was still intact. Sometimes, I could faintly hear muffled voices from a far away distance. I concluded that they must be the other "residents". It was nice. Their company made me feel safe.

All was well until something changed.

I couldn't breathe. I was resting when a building pressure that suffocated me came out of the blue. I was slowly being crushed. I knew the feeling too well. All around me, the walls were closing in. The more I struggled, the harder they pressed.

Was I dying again? Was I finally facing judgment? I did not know. I tried calling out to the others, but it sounded as if they were screaming too. For the first time in a long time, I was afraid. It hurt so much. I hated it. It felt like I was about to burst. Stop it. Stop it, please. Stopitstopitstopitstopitstopit.

And just when I thought the pain was too unbearable, I was free. However, the freedom was worse.

The harsh cold felt like pins and needles on my skin. I was blind and I couldn't move. Warm hands were grasping my body, yet they did not bring me any ease.

So I screamed and screamed and screamed.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Eaton. It's a girl!"