The island was great, better that great, tremendous no better that that. It was better that I had ever expected of a tribe who hasn't invented clothes yet. This island was better than the mainland put together. The tribe  all worked in unison with there jobs whether someone a coconut collected or a salesman in their small town they would work together to sell the items they gathered or build things so people can leave which wasn't very often.I think during my time on the island only 1 person left, not including me. 

       On this AMAZING island they hadeverything from a magnificent rain forest, where monkeys dwell, to a beach where you see glittering pink dolphins (YES PINK DOLPHINS THEY WERE SO CUTE) they had everything you could imagine. They even had a language, and it was really well developed. There was a translator on the island so they hired her and she translated and helped me learn the language. In what seemed like 2 days I knew nearly every word. It was so cool but also very... weird and confusing. They seemed to not anger me and made me seem like a queen, i was hand fed grapes and be cooled down by people fanning me with banana leaves. It confused me a lot, like ALOT. It was almost as though I WAS there queen even though they already had a tribe leader called haiku ( which I thought was one type of poem). But after what I say seem like 5 months on that gorgeous island I had to leave eventually so I did but what seemed like 5 months was actually 10 YEARS in them 10 years only 1 person had left like I said and she was an amazing healer but if it had actually been 10 years how wwould she have adapted if she had been on the island longer than me. I wanted to leave island sooner not sick of being their 'queen' but I just didn't like that lifestyle I knew something was wrong with it but the reason I did leave was I just miss being free in the world. I went on a small little raft that would take me away to the mainland and for me never to see that island again.

Authors note: sorry for a short chapter after the last one which was over 1200 words and this ones barely passing 400

 I've messed up. Big time. I'm on the run but not from cops..from death. You know the guy with the big black cape that looks as though it's made of souls and comes and collects your life after 70-90 years in the world of the living, yeah I know a lot about him, as I say I'm on the run from death. Crazy, I know, how can someone like me be on the run from death, well it's a long story and only a little time to tell. You won't know when death will try to take you in his grasp. You see I was supposed to die centuries ago but for some unkown reason, that baffled doctors, nurses, even churches who believe a guy raised from the dead, I didn't perish. Now all I face is death, everywhere I may turn, whether it may be something simple like a car crash all the way to something crazy like 50-foot tsunamis on the white cliffs of Dover. In the past, I've been thrown into fiery volcanos full of ash and soot, I've been stood on by laistrygonian giants (that I didn't even know existed until I was a pancake on the sidewalk ) and then walked away as if nothing even happened and that's been my life since I was young.

     I've lost everyone from my era but I still have friends, Callie and Emma they where best friends before i met them they where together all the time but i feel like I'm the 3rd wheel ( which i am) but more than a 3rd wheel, you know what I mean, at least they accepted me; went on the run with me but they don't really know me, they don't know the real me. They know nothing of my past, all they know is that I'm a 14 year old troubled girl called Thalia Coober, who is always ending up in the face of death and is always in deaths grasp, you could say im  flirting with him.

            Let's go back to 1901 England, particularly Yorkshire, I was a regular girl, in regular city, in a regular house, attending a regular school: the only thing irregular, was that I had ADHD- meaning I could not concentrate for the life of me (It wasn't known back then but it is now so I'm going to refer to it as its new name). All this death avoiding started on one of these regular days in 1901 when me and my parents where in a car crash. My parent were... Well... how do I put this.... well...let me just say it- they were drug addicts and alcoholics. However, at that time I didn't know. I was young and naive and to be fair I was still learning to count to 10.

             The story goes my mother and father wanted to go to 'the arcade' with me but really they wanted to go to the back allies of the arcade and buy drugs but they couldn't leave me alone and being druggies ( as cool kids say) and couldn't leave me with a baby sitter in case the baby sitter found the drugs in the corner of my room, so they unwillingly took me. My parents HATED me, they took hated to a whole new level think how much Harry Potter hates Voldemort and unbridgeable combined and times that by a 100 ( yes i may be from 1901 but i read Harry Potter, OK). My parent often made points that I was a MISTAKE, if anything they were mistakes, anyways i think you get they point. My parents had me in the back of the car not even strapped into the seat, all was well and normal and happy but the next thing you know is that they were racing. Yes racing, racing down the highway ... then everything went black.

          Let's fast forward a month, I've miraculously woke up from a coma but I'm not in the hospital, I'm at a church! Everyone ( well 3 people, the vicar, my aunt and her husband nobody else showed up)  was in black, black dress, black flowers, black everything. Then the thought struck me, I'm at a funeral- MY FUNERAL!! I literally gate crashed the funeral. Well done Thals. I am literally the 1st person to gate crash their own funeral. Eyes turned to look at me. I stared at my aunts dark dull eyes until my eyes glanced at something- 2 other coffins...inside lay. No... it was my parents! My family, even if they had done drugs and alcohol I was six and to a six year old, family was everything. Now that I think about that time we could literally say that we were on the highway to hell (ok I'll stop now). After that moment my life changed. At the hospital, at the social workers but worst of all at school, I was call death girl, zombie girl and even female Jesus ( like what? Jesus may have rose from the dead but seriously. Female Jesus). Eventually I started skipping school, I made up excuses for my absences to my teacher's stuff like I was sick or I had clinomania ( the desire to stay in bed) and my social carers ironically didn't care. Of course I worried about ending up like my parents but right now I didn't care, I was very mature and clever for my age so I knew what it could do to me so I even pressured myself sometimes not to do it. I spent my days mainly wandering the streets as though I was a teenager but really I was an 8 year old girl who inside was scared worried and alone.

        After all those years of being in social care it was time to go to a care home but I started hopping from care home to care home like a cricket bouncing to and from one place to another time after time. I was such 'a freak' that not even my Latina auntie, Eleanor, ( who showed up to my funeral) would take me because 'I had a bad aura'. Like what's that supposed to mean? But eventually I had to. I had to leave, I was sick, tired, depressed, of everything, of life, of tests doctors ran on me, of care homes. I just wanted to leave, so that's what I did, I packed up and left. I lived in sewers, some run down buildings and a couple of hotels that I would wash dishes as rent. I went everywhere such as France to Tokyo to Dover and then to an island in the middle of nowhere. It had a tribe. An angry tribe if anything. They wore long thin wooden sticks around there waists, their body's consisted of bright red dots and lines on there tanned skin like some sort of body paint. As I was a intruder they thought I was some sort of spy or something so they took the high road and kidnapped me and chuck me into a volcano but then a couple of minutes later I just, walked out there... as if nothing happened. You should have seen their faces, they were process. After that let's just say I stayed there for a couple months until I lied that I had to leave to go back to my job as a god .Yes I know stupid but they thought I was the fire and lava god. Yeah totally like a green eyed, black haired girl a god. Ha! There crazy.

Once I got off that island things got bad, like real bad. I thought my life was messed up enough, little did I know, it would get way worse. What had seemed like months on that island, was actually years- nearly 10 years. HOW? I could swear that I was only on that island for 3 months but right now if 10 years had really passed I should be 19, look 19, act 19 however I looked like a 9 year old, still felt like a 9 year-old and still acted like a ver mature 9-year-old. It was as if time had slowed down on that island. I couldn't worry about age problems, Germany was calling war with literally everyone in the world. So from then on life was hectic. Bombs after bombs after bombs. Gunshots echo through my ears where ever I may go. It was hard enough being on the run from deaths grasp and social services but now I had to run everywhere. I could feel deaths grasp getting stronger than usual and I knew it won't belong until poof we're all gone. Even if I couldn't be killed, to a 9-year-old it was terrifying. But I continued to run, everywhere I may turn there were battlefields. Battlefield here, battlefield there, I just couldn't go anywhere without  there  being  a  battlefield.  I  tried  to  return  to  the  island  but  I couldn't  remember  where I was never mind an island. I  was  alone. There  was  death  everywhere not  only  after  me  but  after  everyone as if it was seeking blood like a vampire. Nobody  was  safe. Not  even me.

                        For  the  short  time  that  I  was  in  the  city, life  was horrible worse than you could ever imagine. Buildings  collapsed  everywhere,  bodies  lay  motionless  on  the ground, people  ran  like  headless  chickens  whenever a  bomb hit and, worst of all, I couldn't hide away everywhere was used by the military, the poor and death. I regretted leaving that beautiful island every second someone dropped in front of me.

           I eventually moved into a back ally of a restaurant. I moved into a small refrigerator box. Life wasn't great but it was a little better. At least there was a girl my age. Her family died. She doesn't like talking about it though. Her name was Anne, she was a beautiful ginger haired girl she has brown eyes that glistened in the sun (but there was barely any at the moment) they were so...distracting. I don't remember everything from the time in the alley but I do vividly remember this one time. Me and Anne where making acapella and dances to the gunshots in the distance because no one was around to judge us and I went to do a round off backhand spring (Anne taught me because her family were rich and got her lessons) and I did it I was so happy that I tripped over the smallest of pebbles into a bin the bad news was I cut my eyebrow in two (I'm still missing half a eyebrow) but the good news was it was hilarious Anne still teased me about that until one day.

            One very unfortunate day, a bomb had just hit my hiding place in the back alley. I was on the verge of death, my eyes were fuzzy, I felt like I had been ran over by a car, my arm felt like it was ready to fall. I clutched it but then in the blur a person came over it wasn't anne. I couldn't see who they were, male maybe,no female short bob camouflage with a British flag on her arm. She was British. I tried to speak

 "he...l...hel...help" I whimpered a surge of burning fire rippled through me 

"Don't speak." She whispered softly

 "don't move. I'll help you" her voice reminded me of a voice I had only heard once it was... suddenly my mind went blank I tried to speak but my voice trailed off, my vision blurred increasingly and dangerously quickly. Then blackness.

             I was back in my parents car when they where racing down the Motor way in the silver bmw. I could see my 6 year old unsuspecting self. I was sitting there playing with a small teddy bear whom I can not remember probably because of the impact to me head in the crash. I peered out the window. My parents may has well been in a formulation 1 car the way it was racing. I wanted to move my new ghost like body even if it was just a inch but it was as if I was stuck, with what seemed like super glue to my seat. My fathers cigar smoke climbed into my new and old lungs like a monkey clinging on to a banana and stayed there like the way guilt sticks to your gut. I looked out the window, everything was a blur of green and blacks i swivelled my head to the dial on the miles per hour it was increasing, 40...45...50...60...70... we were gather speed then BANG.