Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, The Lovely Bones, or The Mediator series.

Note: One of my more provocative Kurt-centric pieces. Based loosely on The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold and The Mediator series by Meg Cabot but does not borrow any of their characters; just the concepts. Please leave a review.

My name is Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. This is the story of how I died.

"Get out of my way, you faggot." Suddenly, I was shoved into the wall, my head throbbing from where it slammed against the concrete. I clutched my temples; sure enough, there was blood stuck to my fingers. I groaned in pain and stumbled towards the exit. On my way, I ran into my boyfriend, Blaine.

"Kurt, what's wrong?" He asked in concern.

"Got shoved against the wall…bleeding…" I mumbled.

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby," he clucked his tongue. "Here, I'll get you to the nurse's office…"

"No!" I said a little too quickly. He looked at me strangely. "I mean…no, that's okay," I covered. "I'll just wash up in the bathroom. I'll…I'll see you later."

"Okay. Take it easy," he rubbed my shoulder. I blinked after him as he strode down the hall, knowing it was the last time I'd ever see him. So, I lied to him. It's not like I hadn't lied to Blaine before. When you had been through the shit I had been through, it became laughably easy to laugh to your family and friends, people who supposedly cared about you, but who you know couldn't give two fucks about you once you were cornered and afraid, lost in a dark hole. Squinting against the bright sunlight, I made my way to my truck. My light eyes watered from the sun's glare. I closed them and let the warm breeze brush across my face. It made me almost feel sorry for the act I was about to commit. Almost.

I worked my way on home and opened the front door. Double-checking to make sure none of my family members were present, I locked the door and closed all the curtains, ensuring that I was in relative darkness, secluded from the outside world. Not that I wasn't already secluded from the world to begin with. My heart racing, I ran upstairs to my room and sat down at my desk to write the note. I paused half-way in my writing. Should I even bother leaving a note? Would anyone really care to know the reason I ended my life anyway? No, I decided. I left the unfinished note tucked in the mirror of my vanity for them to find when they came home. Now, where to do the deed?

I eliminated my bedroom; the carpeting was just too precious to ruin with blood. I could do it in Dad and Carole's room, but I wouldn't want to ruin their things, either, nor could I very well do it in Finn's room. The kitchen would be highly unsanitary, and the bathroom probably would be, too. I finally settled on the basement. Why not choose the place where my stepbrother first called me "faggy" and about broke my heart? Why not choose the place where I came to cry whenever things were especially fucked up in my life? It was a good place to go. I grabbed it from where I'd stashed it in a box at the top of my closet shelves and ran down to the basement, heart pounding. I closed the door, and for a moment contemplated whether or not I should lock it. For their sake, I didn't. Make it easier for them to find me after.

I sat in the middle of the floor. How did people sit when they decided to do this? Did they lie down? Sit up straight? And were their legs straight out in front of them, or crossed? Did it really matter, if I was just going to fall backwards anyway? Did I want to have that sensation of falling, falling, falling? Yes, I did. I crossed my legs and shivered in the cool of the basement air. Cocking the gun, I pointed it towards my chest, towards my rapidly beating heart. Taking in a deep breath, I closed my eyes, fingers fumbling on the trigger.

Then I pulled it…

To be honest, I thought I'd just be seeing darkness, oblivion. Of course, I don't believe in God or Hell or Heaven, or even Purgatory. If I did, I'd obviously land in Hell, as suicide doesn't exactly buy you a ticket into the gates of Heaven. At the very least, I'd end up in Purgatory. Still, not believing in an afterlife, I thought once you were dead, you were just dead, and that was it. Especially in my case; how could anyone live from a bullet through the heart?

So you could imagine my surprise when I woke up some minutes later.

I could hear sirens in the distance, and I assumed the neighbors or something heard the shot and called the police. Or perhaps someone had just pulled into the driveway and was mere minutes too late. But then I realized that I felt strange. Heavier, somehow, yet light on my feet. I caught sight of my dead, bleeding-out body on the floor, a gruesome sight, yet there was a slight hint of a smile on my face. I started to panic; what was going on? I felt myself; yes, I had texture, I had feeling. I was breathing, in a way, but the body on the floor that was so painstakingly me was not. Paramedics, followed by Finn, ran down the stairs. Finn immediately began to yell for me to wake up. He shook the lifeless body on the floor, calling me to him, but of course I didn't respond; how could I? I was dead, dead and gone. "Kurt, please!"

"I'm right here!" I yelled. I ran up to him and touched him. "Finn, I'm here!"

"Kurt…no…no…" he burst into tears, water droplets falling onto my pale, dead face.

"Finn, can't you see me? I'm right behind you!" I tapped the shoulder of the paramedic that was attending to my body. "Excuse me, sir? What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, son," he was telling Finn. "But your stepbrother is gone."

"No I'm not!" I yelled at full-volume. "I'm right behind you!"

But he couldn't hear me. No one could.

Shakily, I backed up, bumping into the table, accidentally knocking a vase to the floor. It crashed to the tile, breaking into several pieces. "What was that?" Finn jumped. He peered curiously at the shards of glass, wondering how they ended up there. He looked straight into my eyes, I swear he did.

But he couldn't see me. No one could.

I whipped my head around to where I knew a mirror hung on the wall. I could not see my own reflection in it. I curled up in a corner, shaking. How was this possible? My mind raced for minutes as I watched the paramedics bag my body, Finn sobbing on the stairs, and some policemen marking the bloodstains on the floor.

Then it hit me.

I, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, was caught in-between life and death.

To be continued…