There's this light. The first thing that hits me as I wake up. It's so bright it blinds me for a second but then transforms into a calm yellowness swimming over my head, which is right now, pretty much the only thing telling me I'm alive.

I stare at it with a numb gaze, enjoying the mere feeling of existence, not feeling, not thinking – like an intermediate bliss of nothingness. Everything seems to be ethereal and barren; as if drifting in space. Like an eternal immobility in time.

Where in hell am I? I might have guessed Heaven but well, Heaven probably does not smell of bed sheets and cough syrup. A hospital, maybe? It's cold and silent. I slowly turn my head to inspect the surroundings. There are machines overhead and around me. Big, complicated, wired machines I've never seen before. Most of them are connected to channels dug in various parts of my body, which I notice, white electric fluids course through. I can't exactly remember what happened to me. All I am feeling is ... nothing. Simply nothing, except a little rusty. I can't bend my neck or even wiggle a finger. So I just lay, staring at that light and trying to think. It's difficult of course. My mind had never been this vacant and bleak before. Like a shipwreck on the sea; fragments floating around, but making no clear connection. I hold on helplessly to these fragments, afraid to drowning in an ocean of oblivion.

I soon realize that I have company. There's one... no, two more people in the room, dressed in white coats. Their faces appear fuzzy.

"Welcome to The Elysium." the metallic voice of a woman speaks. I squint hard to see her properly. She is short, very short, stoutly built with feathery skin and thin pink lips. On the other side of my bed is a tall guy with a longish face and dirty blond hair. He'd be really handsome if it weren't for his mean hard eyes looking right at me.

"Welcome... where?" The words come out of my mouth so quietly I wonder if the woman has heard me. She does, anyways. She nods apprehensively, opening her mouth to speak again. "Okay. First take deep breaths and relax. Close your eyes. Let your mind be tranquil and completely at peace – "

" – Sure, maybe think of rainbows and apple pies too – it helps. And if you're feeling up to it, you can even try recalling who you are. No pressure."

"Ugh, Mark, will you give it a rest?"

"What? I'm trying to help."

"Well, you're not helping, you shit-piper."

Mark audibly whispers to me, "She's got swearing issues."

Suddenly, it hits me. He is right. I can't remember my name. Or Surname. Or address. Or favourite colour.

Okay, no, no, no, I must remember something. Who am I? Something landed me in here. Something happened to me. Where am I? Where are Mother and Dad?

I have never felt so helpless before. I am drowning, fast and helplessly.

"Please stay calm!" Laura struggles to keep me on the bed. "Don't panic! Mark, the restraints!"

Mark presses something at the rear of my bed. Cold, metallic cuffs slide over my wrists and ankles, restricting my motion. It hurts.

"Please....let me....go," I squirm as I have the feeling that the cuffs were gradually tightening their grip. This probably isn't a hospital.

Suddenly, Mark presses down a hand over my forehead, and yanks it back on the pillow. He looks down at me with cold hard eyes and speaks with urgency in his voice.

"Look here girl, you got to quit playing the idiotic little blight and concentrate. Try to think."

Rude bastard. But spite can wait. I close my eyes, trying to think. A few fragments float up.

"Ra...Rachael Hills. My name is Rachael Hills."

"Good! Here we go!" Laura encourages, clapping her hands together. She reminds me of those overly enthusiastic primary teachers who use 'math' and 'fun' in the same sentence.

The bleak nothingness of my mind sometimes momentarily springs up into a shape, a figure, a face, or a sound. Luckily, I realise I'm progressing fast.

"I am sixteen. My dad's name is Logan Hills. My stepmother is Cara. Cara Bates. Andrea Bates is my stepsister. I live in Oak Leaf House, London. I – I was at the mall last night...it was crowded, and noisy...Rowan called me to remind me of his concert downtown," a comforting warmth spread through my body as I picture a handsome boy of eighteen with caramel eyes and a charming smile, "I remember driving, and...and..."

There is nothing else I can recall. It is like I reached a dead-end.

"Precise closure." Mark comments.

"Now for the final touch," Laura says, "It may hurt a little, but nothing worse than what you've already had."

I nod, still uncertain. Laura switches on several keys on the big machinery above my head. Her fingers move swiftly and deftly like she has done this a hundred times before. Followed by whirring and whooshing and an incessant beeping, the white liquid running through my channels speeds up, becoming an electric illumination. It hits my body making me writhe in pain. I bite my lips and close my eyes tightly to keep myself from screaming. The pain is spontaneous and piercing. I've never felt anything like this before. My eyes water convulsively and I can't help it. When the machine stops and I can finally breathe, I realize my body feels less rusted. Weak, but somehow smoother. The metal cuffs slide away.

Finally I take a deep breath and inquire into the ultimate mystery up till now, "What happened to me?"

"Congratulations, Rachael Hills," Mark says, with an uncanny – almost evil – grin on his face, "You have just successfully died."