Nobody would understand why I did it, took my own life that is. I was eighteen years old, fresh out of college, with my whole life ahead of me. And by that, I mean heading off to university to become a psychologist. A Level’s had taken me, beaten me to a pulp, and still left me with just enough fight to accept the fact that my education wasn’t over. But please don’t get the impression that I killed myself as a way to get out of going to higher education, because that’s not the case. At sixteen years old, fresh out of high school, I had begun to wonder exactly what lay ahead of me. I mean after school, after all those years of education. I’d always been skeptical of the “American Dream”, the search for happiness, all of that. It set me apart from everybody else, mostly because they were more into partying and not giving a crap what they were going to do once they were given freedom. I still hung out with people, though. I still conformed to the social obligations of today’s youth, and, aside from a small issue with anxiety, I fit in pretty well on the outside. Throughout college the thought still remained that, some day I would also have to conform to human obligations and live my life question-free. I would have to accept that I was supposed to get married, have babies, work and die. It just wasn't enough for me. And so, when I finally picked up that razor, it kissed my wrists, as if to say 'woohoo, you're free!' Then everything went black as I felt my blood exit my body.

And to anyone else, that might sound strange.

I hover weightless, moving slowly towards the light; that bright, intense light that everyone has heard of, but not many have seen to tell the tale. My mind begins to relax, anticipating the warm and welcoming embrace of the light, but when it doesn't I open my eyes in shock. I’m pretty sure this is not supposed to happen. I stop about five feet short from the bright orb of light, which is taunting me with its warmth and beauty. Then, suddenly and without warning, I'm in free fall. My one fear is that I will fall back into my body and all of this will be a dream, and that I didn't actually pluck up the courage to go through with it. As I scrunch my eyes and fists closed simultaneously, I feel my fall being stopped by a chair. I'm sitting in a chair, a nice expensive leather one like in a shrinks office. I'm slowly opening my eyes and I notice a bald headed, intense looking man in a suit staring at me. My fists remain clenched, almost defensively. This can't be heaven, his suit is charcoal grey and he doesn't have a halo. Or wings. 'Shut up', I scream at myself. I try to gather myself and place my shaky hands on my lap. The man raises his eyebrow at me,

"Melanie Brown." This isn't a question, more of an accusation. I feel like I'm seven years old again, sat in the head teacher’s office being interrogated for sticking some gum in Ashley Holder's hair. The image of her sad looking bald patch makes me chuckle inappropriately. He frowns. Obviously he's expecting me to say something.

"That's me," I admit, biting away my smile. He shifts in his seat, examining me with one eyebrow raised quizzically.

"I suppose you've gathered this is not Heaven," he says matter of factly. I look for any sign that he may be joking with me, but this man seems deadly serious. It’s almost as if he has no sense of humour at all. But then, when you’re dealing with dead people I suppose you have to stifle inappropriate jokes, especially dead puns. I decide to finally answer him. He must think I’m mentally stunted or something, waiting minutes between answers. At least he’s patient.

"Unless Heaven suddenly adopted dark and ominous offices with strange men in suits, yes. I guessed it wasn't Heaven. So where am I exactly, if not at the pearly gates?"

"Observant you are," he pushes back his chair and stands up, straightening his tie, "we have some work to do." He ushers for me to follow him, and I get up cautiously, wondering if my levitating trick has worn off or not. Unfortunately the floors are dark hardwood here and not fluffy white clouds. We exit the office and walk down a hallway with a seventies looking carpet and matching wallpaper. He does not look back once, which I suppose is a good thing, because I’m gawping at the sinister artwork on the walls, mouth wide open. Despite our first few minutes of awkward questions and answers, I trust this man instantly. Maybe it's because he has some sort of resemblance to my Uncle Ralph, who went bald when he was twenty. He was one of the only people I felt like I could really talk to without being judged. He was an easy going fellow who majored in philosophy, meaning he had a license to talk nonsense pretty much all the time, which he did. I walk straight into the back of the suited stranger and immediately apologize. If I hadn't been zoned out I would have noticed he'd stopped right in front of some antique looking wooden double doors. He produces a key from his suit pocket, holds it up for a second, then fits it into a bronze coloured lock on one of the doors. He pushes it open, and I am instantly disappointed.

It's my tiny Leeds apartment. Specifically, my bathroom, where I am laying in the tub pale as a ghost -I giggle a little bit at that thought- and stark naked. I gasp, immediately feeling violated, especially since this man looks like my uncle. I try to remind myself why I chose to get in the tub naked and not at least partially clothed. Not only is my neighbour, or whoever finds me, going to see me dead with my wrists slashed, but also stark naked. At least I decided to shave my legs a couple of days ago, so it’s not all bad news. I notice I've been stood for a while again and Suited Stranger is eyeing me up once more with his pondering eyebrow. ‘Maybe he hasn't noticed I'm naked.’ I pray, but his embarrassed throat clearing tells me otherwise. Right, let’s get this over with before I have time to critique my toenail polish application and cheap manicure.

"Why are we here?" I bite my lip anxiously.

"Because I need you to tell me why you did this," he explains, pointing at my blindingly obvious offense. I offer him, instead, an awkward sideways glance and go to stand in front of my body, shielding it from his view.

"I couldn't handle it anymore," I admit, bowing my head down in shame. I feel myself blushing, and I wonder if it’s more to do with my naked, vulnerable body, or this man’s blunt and to the point questioning. My eyes scan the floor and find several bobby pins strewn around. Damn, I always lost those things. My excuse was that they blended in with the dark tile of the bathroom floor. Not that it matters now, I'm eternally stuck with...wait, a perfect fishtail braid! This has to be some sort of Heaven, I've never been able to achieve this perfection before in a braid. I notice, yet again, that I've gotten sidetracked. I also notice that Suited Stranger is staring at me with his intense eyes. Is he waiting for me to say more? I've known this guy for ten minutes and already he wants to know all my dark and hairy secrets. I know he won't let me get away with not saying anything, so I imagine it’s Uncle Ralph standing there, and indulge him. I make absolutely sure that the more ‘secret’ parts of my body are kept that way.

"There were so many expectations of me, and not just the regular 'get a degree, get a job, get married, have babies and die' crap. It was more like, 'Hey Melanie, we want you to do all of that and enjoy it. Don't even think you have an alternative. You can't question life and all of its splendor. Just get on with it.' And I'm not like that; I wanted to know what the point was in it all. Why do we have to have babies and get old and die? I didn't want to be forced into something that I didn't understand. I felt trapped and I needed out, and I don't expect you to understand that, Mr Suit and Tie. Have you ever actually been human?" I slump down the wall of my purple coloured bathroom and sit on the tile floor, noticing that I can't feel the cold on my behind anymore. Then again, I seem to be wearing thick sweat pants, another perk I suppose to being dead. I can be eternally comfy.

He looks almost stumped for a few moments, but finally offers me his hand, beckoning for me to stand up. I give him a 'do-I-really-have-to' look, to which he gives me a 'don't-make-me' look. Once I'm back on my feet he smoothes his hand over his hairless head and looks me dead in the eye.

"Do you know, Melanie Brown, you would have made a great philosopher,” he says, almost hesitant to actually make a joke, “And that is the first answer I've had that's actually baffled me." His serious look kills the joke, and he starts out of the room. He must be such a blast at parties. I wait until he’s gone to move away from my body, trying to preserve at least some dignity. One last look around my former bathroom leaves me with an empty feeling in my stomach, and I know it’s the last time I will see it. Walking through the double doors once more, I feel that I’m walking out of my past life for the last time. As I’m walking past the Suited Stranger, I realize that he never answered my question about being human.

I just hope that we aren’t headed to another part of my past life, like he’s some sort of Ghost of Christmas Past. Seeing my past Christmases would probably draw me to the same fateful conclusion, and I don’t think I have it in me to hop into another bath naked.

I take my seat once again and he sits opposite me, his fingers laced together.

"Miss Brown, your case is quite peculiar. When I was assigned to you I assumed you would be one of the thousands of depressed post-graduates whose debt and lack of employment prospects force them to take the easy way out. But you're special, you're an old soul. You're one of the thinkers of this universe, and that's why I'm going to give you a one-time offer." His eyes narrow and he looks at me for a few seconds, then ten, then a whole minute. Of course, I can't tell if time is going faster or slower or not at all up here. Assuming I'm up. What does he mean by assigned me, anyway? This man doesn’t just look like Uncle Ralph, he’s just as cryptic.

"As for where we are, this location is the Inbetween. It's where people come when they commit suicide, first to be assessed, then to spend the rest of eternity. It’s a whole other world in itself."

"To be honest I thought I'd be a piece of stardust right now floating around in harmony." He notes my semi sarcastic tone and I instantly shut my mouth. So he doesn’t appreciate sarcasm, which is pretty much my entire personality. What a shame.

His face softens for just a millisecond before he lets out a deep sigh. He shuffles papers around on his desk, and I see a file with my name on it. Hmmm, looks like a thick file to say I’m only eighteen.

"You are one lucky girl, Miss Brown. I have a task for you, and should you complete it you will be given a second chance, a way to make this right."

I make the wise decision to not say anything, although my mind is racing with smart comebacks right now.

"I want you to go back down to Earth and stop a suicide. Specifically the suicide of a young man named Isaac. You may do anything in your power to stop him, and you will be disguised. Your old face is dead; we're letting you...borrow one. You need to prove yourself, Melanie. I know you are capable of so much more. Your life was not meant to end like this." Kind of an information dump if you ask me. I wonder if he’s just rushing through this so he can get to his two o’clock suicide in time. I am stumped, so I scramble to think of more questions to ask. That and I really don’t want to go back to Earth. I just came from there and I have no interest in going back. Stalling is definitely my second name, or my third after Rose.

“Do I get a last name or am I just going to spend eternity walking around until a man named Isaac happens to become suicidal?” Well, I now know that I'm a sassy dead person. Then again, I have always liked to challenge authority.

“When you find him, you will know. And you don’t have eternity. Like I said, this body will be borrowed. There is no guarantee as to how long it will last. I’ve had to pull many strings to make this arrangement possible, Melanie. Please don’t disappoint me.”

 I try to make a sound, to argue, to ask him more questions, but he's fading out almost on cue. The whole room is fading and I'm still sitting stunned, confused, and a little bit frustrated. I was not expecting to be sent on a wild goose chase when I pressed that razor to my wrist. I was expecting some peace and quiet at the very least. This was my whole life in a nutshell, doing what everyone else wanted of me. I want to kick and stomp and throw a toddler tantrum, just to show him exactly how much I felt like going on this ‘mission’.

But I start to hear a buzzing sound, almost like white noise surrounding me. I feel like I'm stuck in an old TV set, flickering in black and white. I've been stood still for a few seconds now, but it definitely feels like hours. I look down at my body and I’m blending in, black and white and fuzzy. This is what I always imagined that kid felt like in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, when he’s being zapped from reality into the television set. Eventually the flickering and the white noise subside and I find myself standing like a complete melon, of course, in the middle of a park, in the middle of the day. A few people are starting to offer me awkward peripheral vision glares and I wonder if they saw me materialize out of nowhere. I decide I don’t care what people think, because I’m on an important life saving mission. If I care what people think in this life, I won’t get very far.

I'm standing in front of a fountain, which is definitely a strange place to...resurrect. I pat down my body, noticing I’m at least a cup size bigger in the boob department. ‘Goodbye C cups, hello D’s!’ At least I have that going for me now, I suppose. I eye up a plain, sad looking face in the fountain, which now apparently belongs to me. -Who had this body before me? I wasn’t aware people in the Inbetween were body snatchers. Then again, I didn’t even know the Inbetween existed until about half an hour ago.- Plain with big boobs, this works. Unless Isaac is some sort of kinky serial killer, or downright sex fiend. I notice that the park I’ve materialized in is not familiar at all, so I’m definitely not in Yorkshire anymore. We don’t have fountains this swanky anyway, especially not in Pontefract, where I’m from. Yorkshire puddings spring to mind for some peculiar reason, and I realize then that I'm having pangs of hunger. I check my pockets for any loose change, praying that I haven’t been resurrected as a pauper, but I am delighted to find a shiny, executive credit card along with a brand new Samsung phone. Well, it’s better than my flip phone that was hanging on by tape. Perks of being on a mission from the Inbetween, I suppose.

It takes me about an hour to become accustomed to the city and figure out where everything is. It’s still a mystery to me exactly where I am, but it must be somewhere in North America because the cars are driving on the wrong side of the road. I stumble upon an average looking hotel and check in, making it home for the foreseeable future. It has the basics; bed, lamp, telly, bathroom, worn carpet. The bed might have bed bugs, but at this moment I don’t care. I haven’t been brought back with any possessions, so there’s nothing really to drop off. I should get some new clothes after I’ve eaten.  

I'm settled into a booth at the nearest greasy diner, which I would regularly call a greasy spoon, were I still in England. I realize it is my only option having emerged from death in good old America. The state though, is still a mystery. A warm, oversized slice of apple pie is sitting in front of me, inviting me to dive in. Let me be the first to say, I was very upset initially when I could not order Yorkshire puddings. Believe me, I tried, and was met with an awkward stare by the waitress. What good is a second chance if I can’t enjoy my favourite food? But after a couple of mouthfuls of pie, I'm starting to understand the hype with Americans and their pie. I think to myself, 'Hey, I'm only borrowing this body for a while, why not indulge?' I promise myself that I will scarf down as many delicious, calorie filled desserts as I can during this ‘mission’. This is definitely the place to find said delicious treats, with at least twelve varieties of pie.

I’m almost done my pie in record time, when a disturbing thought hits me. Exactly what did Suited Stranger see in me that he found 'special' and worth a second chance? And what would this second chance entail? I don’t know at this point if I want to be resurrected for good. And what, exactly, gives him the right to just put people back in bodies? Is he some kind of super angel?

‘But he isn’t Castiel from Supernatural’ my mind giggles, fangirling. No, if this was Supernatural, I would surely awake to see Dean Winchester in the booth opposite me eating the same pie. I shake my head at myself, finish my pie and flash the waitress my executive, super important person credit card. She mumbles to herself and walks off to get the machine, hips swaying dramatically. I pat my flat stomach, satisfied with my first back to life meal, even if it isn’t Yorkshire puddings. Pie is definitely my second favourite.