Bailey is just a girl. A girl who goes through so much, but still manages to keep a smile on her face. She has amazing friends, and an awesome life all outside of her so called "home". She only calls it "home" because she is forced to stay there, if it were up to her, she would escape and live with her best friend, Ashley. Her life with her mother isn't good, at all. She wants to leave, she's tried, but failed, and she loses all hope. She felt so degraded and hopeless that she felt as the only way of ending her constant pain was to end her life. She finds out afterwards, when she is for some odd reason still here on Earth, walking, feeling, learning, just like any of us, she made a mistake, that she wish she never did what she did, but now all she is, is her Loves Ghost. Chapter 1: Final Decision I've been asking myself the same question for hours now. Why? Why would I be so stupid to do this? To kill myself. How could I let my emotions take over my hope, at least the last of it I had? But I hated my life! Well, my home life, which is where most of it took place. It's one thing to not have a "regular" family, were the mom and dad are still together, and it's another thing to not even have a dad, but it's something completely different were you feel like your own mother doesn't even love you. Where she blames everything on you, complains about everything to you, and takes everything out on you, to make you feel so low, to were you don't think your pretty and too fat, and takes away your life and be the father of her kid because she doesn't have one and so called father of her kid. My half-sister isn't one. I was just tired of it all, always feeling guilty.
When she said those words to me, Saturday afternoon, February 5th, 2011 I decided it was going to be the last time I would let anyone hurt me ever again. She said she didn't care, that she didn't count me as part of the family. So I packed my bags and left, she knew all along were I was going, I kept to the plans that I had made two days before, just wasn't planning on coming back what was called my home. I left a note saying I was going to Ashley's, already talked to her dad, he understood and allowed, Ashley has witnessed my mother’s craziness, her bipolar-ness, if that's even a word, so he had no problem helping me to get out of the house. My boyfriend’s parents agreed that we should have some time away from each other, but my mom wouldn't except that, she demanded me home when she found out I had packed my bags, that night I ended up going to Ashley’s. And that's the night it happened...

Now I don't want to go into any details or anything of the sort of how I did it, I don't even find that needed, I don't want to seem like "wow this girl had it bad, I feel so sorry for her" or get any sorrow, or sympathy from anything or anyone, I honestly hate that, like any kind of attention.

Because honestly...When I wasn't home, I had a pretty good life.

I had a boyfriend-which I still do, but obviously it will never be the same-and he was the most perfect one at that. He was someone who actually cared about me, wasn't afraid to love me, and hold me, and kiss me, and brag about me to anyone, not even a complete stranger, he had the most amazing smile in the world, and every time he smiled, it took my breath away, he was such a gentlemen, always asking how I am if I need anything if I was sick, always opening my doors for me when he was around, writing songs, letters and poems for me, and reminded me how beautiful I was to him, and how important I was to him, not that I wanted him too, or not that buying me things matters, but he would always buy me the most amazingly incredible beautiful things in the whole wide world. He also showed me many important amazing things in life, things to cherish and hold until the day I died...

Well, you know that quote; you know what I mean...

But anyways...That's another reason why I hate myself even more then I already did, because I feel like I let him down. Left him behind, make him feel like I didn't care about him, or anything he has done for me, which what he has done for me, means the world. Well did.

It was my mother’s words that said it to make my decision final.

He was my life, my air, my heart and soul.

She took him away from me. And that's when everything important to me, yes even him, my amazing boyfriend I was completely 100% in love with, slip behind, just long enough to decide. And make it final. Chapter 2: Duckie So that's where it leaves me now, that decision that I made final, I mean.

Laying here on this cold, hard but smooth surface, with a bright light over me, and a doctor who’s a Mortician, with a mask on him. He says his name is Duckie, yes he is talking to me, but I am not talking back, I can't, I'm dead, I can't move, I feel really sore, I just want to stretch my body and move around, I feel like it’s the day after a gym day, you know where you work out so hard and for so long, then the next day you’re sore as hell. I wonder if he’s lonely. This Duckie guy. I mean who else talks to dead people? Does he actually think that our souls are still in our bodies? Does he even believe we have souls? To be honest, it’s surprisingly comforting; I almost didn't even realize the shiny tools he was sharpening. I’m scared to be honest. I don’t want to feel pain; I mean that’s why I ended my life in the first place, to get rid of the pain for good. I’m assuming I will feel the pain, since I can feel how sore my body is now, feels like I haven’t moved for days, I’m extremely stiff. If I can feel all that… Don’t you think I’ll feel the scalpel cutting through my body? The big clipper things that cut open my rib-cage? I don't want to see, or possibly even feel, the scalpel cutting me open for an autopsy. Why do I even need it? I killed myself, didn't they get the note? Didn't they see the pills and knife in my hand?

Duckie just closed my eyes, nice guy, his voice is very comforting. He reminds me of my Grandpindo. That’s what I call my grandfather, I guess I didn't know how to spell grandpa as a child, but when I tried, that word came out and just stuck around. I wish I could hold a conversation with Duckie, I would love talking with him, although he can hold a pretty good conversation without anyone answering, he must be lonely. I think it’s nice how he talks to me, I’m over 100% positive that he talks with his other, well, uh, ‘patients’ as well, and I think it’s sweet, whether he does it because he’s bored and lonely and doesn't want to go fully insane, or he does it because he actually thinks deep down it soothes us, I like it, I don’t care for the reasoning, but I like it. I can tell by his personality of whom he is, it’s because he actually cares for our type.

Ya know, dead.

His parents divorced, in an era when that would have been unacceptable. Duckie served in the British military, and saw service in Vietnam (although that might have been with a different military flag as the Brits were not a big part of that war). His education was at Eton (rich, posh) and Edinburgh (famed for medicine, a very old school). He has a network of friends around the USA and the world in coroners and medical examiners. He likes ballet such as Giselle and operas such as La Forza del Destino (The Force of Destiny), history and psychology. He regrets not having children and is waveringly dutiful to his mother's care. His mother was 95+ years of age. He aspired to academia but then thought that it would be awful to be droning on all day telling stories. How ironic. But now that he is done cleaning and organizing and sharpening his tools to do his autopsy, I just relax, listening intensively on what he is saying to me, and pray that I won’t feel a thing..