Records of Rebirth

In the world of darkness that once filled me with uneasiness, I now felt strangely calm. In the comforting warmth and silence of the condensed space, I resigned myself to fate.

It was the certainty of knowing something had already happened with no possibility of going back.

Now I know I died in that classroom.

Though, thinking rationally I should feel uncomfortable - I actually died!

It seemed I was too quick to jump to the conclusion of being kidnapped. But now, even being in a coma was better than this, at least there was a chance I could still wake up.

Death was just so…final.

What was I supposed to do now?

I didn't want to feel sad. Knowing what I had lost would not change the fact that I couldn't go back.

I could only try to be optimistic and see this as a new opportunity. I put away the grief in my heart and tried to be brave.

As I sorted through my fragmented memories I stumbled upon my name. I am Aurelia Ross, or I was Aurelia Ross. Now I was here awaiting a decision as to what I would become.

If this followed the trope of a novel, I should be hearing a voice right about now telling me I am about to be reborn!

I hoped I was right.

So, does that make this limbo? The void between the world of the living and the dead, where souls wait for a chance of rebirth. Let's hope so!

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If I was going to be reborn, I'd rather start over again as a baby, preferably born to a rich family so I could live comfortably my whole life.

In a romantic setting of the past, perhaps Victorian or Elizabethan so I could spend my days attending tea parties and laughing wholeheartedly while I clutched precious jewels the size of my fist.

A first-rate spoiled little miss. Preferably the daughter of a duke and duchess or a rich merchant.

I'd eat plenty of good food and spend my days lounging lazily in the shade like a true villainess.

Ohoho….

I drool just thinking about it. How wonderful.

But no voice spoke to me even after a while.

I was met with dead silence in the dark void.

How long was this supposed to last? Shouldn't I be hearing the voice of god at this moment? I couldn't wait to tell him or her the requests of my rebirth.

Impatient and annoyed at the silence, I grew restless.

Shouldn't they hurry up already? What the hell was this place? It was too boring!

I resisted the urge to shake my metaphorical fists and curse, just in case there was any god watching me.

Was rebirth supposed to be so slow like this? Shouldn't someone be saying something to me?

Was I supposed to just float around getting tortured by the memories of my past life and death for eternity?

Was it because I was an atheist in my past life?

Haah…

So gods can be petty too. And here I thought things couldn't get any worse.

Maybe I should have believed in something, it wasn't like I knew I was going to die so soon. I thought I still had plenty of time.

Why were they taking it out on me right now? Shouldn't I be getting an apology instead, that my life was too short and bitter?

Truly worthless, these piece of shit gods…

Ok, let's calm down.

In the unnatural space there was really nothing to do besides remembering my past life. Since I was getting reborn, these memories would eventually fade so it couldn't hurt to reminisce for a moment.

When I become a baby I would start with a blank slate anyway.

Perhaps it was due to the comfort and warmth of the space I was in. I soon fell asleep.

______________

In my dream eight students and one teacher gathered in a room, each of their faces, a shining white blur like someone has taken an eraser and wiped off all their facial features.

It was oddly creepy the way they still moved around and conversed with no mouths. It seemed my memories were already starting to fade, since I couldn't even remember their faces anymore.

My teacher continued addressing the group. He explained to us that the piece of paper in front of us contained words written by each of us to describe one another.

I stared down at the sheet of paper in front of me, words that made me want to scream stared up at me. Was this supposed to describe me?

What sort of cruel joke was this?

The words were:

[Coldblooded] - Who wrote this?

[Inhuman] - What the hell?

[Ugly] - This must be that violent follower!

[Hardworking] - Oh? I didn't expect to see something nice.

[Treacherous] - Hm? I'm a nice girl you know.

[Shamelessly-cunning] - Was this a hidden compliment? It's nice, but it's still cheating to use two words.

[Slimy] - Who wrote that! I just want to talk.

For a mere bystander like me to be blessed with so many lovely words, I didn't expect this. I should give myself a round of applause to have gotten under the skin of so many people.

Wasn't that amazing for someone who'd never had a proper conversation with anyone in this room to leave such strong impressions on them?

What was wrong with these people? Why were they acting like I'd done things to offend them, when we hardly ever spoke?

Why judge me so harshly? It was too unfair!

Was I experiencing the anguish of someone who acted aloof but secretly wanted to be loved?

It was the first time as the class president that I was faced with such hate. Beside the hardworking and shameless comment, everything else had a negative connotation.

Perhaps my attitude towards them was really horrible without knowing about it.

I was just doing the best at my role. I needed to be strict to handle so many difficult people. That was not my actual personality. I was in fact a very kind and sweet person.

I wanted to cry.

We were meant to consider each word written about us that we disagreed with and try to improve our disposition to others. But how was I supposed to improve something that wasn't even true.

Clearly this group was surprisingly united in their mutual dislike of me.

But it seemed I wasn't the only one upset, because everyone who received their paper had a dark look on their face.

The room was eerily quiet as everyone read through the seven words describing them. Like me, each person was trying to guess who wrote what.

However, our teacher had been smart about this exercise, giving each of us the same type of pen in the same colour of ink to keep everything anonymous.

There was no way to guess, unless we knew each other's handwriting. But if they were sharp, they could just as easily have changed their handwriting like I did mine.

Everyone looked unhappy except for one person, the girl that had been bullied. She alone smiled at everyone, thanking us all for the nice compliments we gave.