Split

Death was quick.

Well, it wasn't quick, but it sure felt like that.

I thought I'd see a light and leave, but nope.

I could see my body laying on the bed as I hovered around looking for a light. The only light I saw was my bed lamp which I'm pretty sure I turned off before swallowing that cup of pills.

"Hey Pri, are you awake? I wanted to tal-"

I saw my twin sister Zoya's jaw drop when she saw the bottles of pills on my bedside table. She slapped my face trying to wake up my lifeless body. It was such a thunderous slap that I heard the sound past the plane of the living and into the land of the dead.

She reached for my hand to look for a pulse.

When did she learn how to do that? We're only in high school. I mean, I was.

I saw the note she had crumpled in her hand. I must have forgotten to rip it off the notepad.

I didn't leave much of a note:

"I was tired of the abuse, the ridicule, and not having support for my identity. It made sense to just leave...forever."

She frantically ran out of the room. Eventually, she brought in our parents, who were devastated and endlessly tried to bring me back to life.

It was the first time that I had seen my parents brought to tears. They looked remorseful. "Why didn't you ask for help before doing something like this?"

Would they have helped me? But I did ask...didn't I?

Did I mess up?

Is it too late to go back?

...

My body wasn't taking me back. It had been too long. Every attempt just took time away from me. After three tries, my body wasn't even there anymore. All that was left were the ashes collected from the crematorium.

Family members from all over the country came to my funeral. My parents told everyone different stories. "She had a cardiac arrest, she had some health issues, some allergy medication side effects."

Suicide was a stigma. My parents didn't want to be seen as failures. Did they really care that I died or was it more what other people thought? For all that I had left on Earth, there wasn't much to keep me staying.

But I guess, my soul was missing something. Maybe that's why I wasn't leaving. I felt myself being pulled towards my sister, my other half. Literally. We were born, attached by the hip.

"Zoya, how are you doing?" I found myself sitting in a therapist's office. Are there therapists in heaven? Also, why is she calling me Zoya?

"The circumstances through which you lost your sister must have been heavy on y—."

Wait, is this actually the therapist's office? Am I in Zoya's body? Am I Zoya?

"We were in a bit of a tiff, and things were just getting better between us. I'm trying my best to cope, but it feels like I've lost my other half."

Zoya responded, but I'm still here, too. Do I have any control?

As I thought of picking my nose, I saw Zoya's arm lift towards her nose. Unaware of my presence, she used her other hand to push her hand down.

"Is everything okay?" Sheila, the therapist looked just as confused as I assume my sister was.

"I need to go use the restroom...really quickly."

'We' were in the restroom as quick as possible.

Facing the mirror, Zoya asked, "Pri, are you there?"

"Yes!" The word uncontrollably left my mouth. As I looked in the mirror, I saw her/our face contort into shock.

"How?!"

"I don't know. Maybe this is a second chance?"

...

For the first time in our lives, my sister and I walked together down our high school hallway. I don't want to sound cliche, but my sister was what some may call, the popular one. She didn't really stand up for me and wasn't much of a sister to me. In fact, she was one of my bullies.

"Hey, Zoya! We're here for you."

"Stay strong, my love."

"You're a warrior!"

My sister wasn't a warrior, but of course, she was getting all of this attention. I was the one who died. No one cared, obviously. I was just Zoya's sister.

Although we were born together, I've despised her since we were detached from each other. She outed me as soon as she found out. Made my parents think I was crazy, did nothing to stop other people from hurting me, and had a horrible boyfriend who did everything to ridicule who I was. She's always done everything to hurt me, and I finally have the chance to make sure she knows how much she screwed up.

"I'm tired of your ranting. Do I have to deal with this even after you died?"

Zoya must have heard my thoughts and responded. Well, it makes sense. We were sharing a body.

"Well, I'm tired of your crap and your theatrics. I don't even think you cared when I died. You probably thought...good riddance."

"I was going to say sorry before you decided to just kill yourself."

I gasped so loud at her audacity. Did she ever care or was it just to make herself feel better for being such a bitch to me.

As we nudged each other for headspace, my fury silenced her. It was finally just me walking down the hallway.

I walked into the front office. Zoya, being the student body president, had to give the announcements that morning for an important event, but I had other plans.

I grabbed the mic and sat myself down on the rickety blue chair. I ignored the notes that were placed in front of me.

"Good morning everyone, this is Pri...I mean Zoya speaking! Hope that everyone is having a great morning because I sure am. Let's talk about second chances today."

*This tale is not meant to be glorifying suicide in any way. It's important to speak up about what you are dealing with and get the help you need before it's too late. Be kind to one another and make sure that you're paying attention to all of the signs.*