Death greeted me today.

The bright overhead lights, nurses' covered faces, and the vinyl player in the corner were the last things I would ever know of this life.

The warmth of the hospital-issue blanket left my legs. I wasn't becoming cold.

I was becoming numb.

I held on to the sharp tone of my heart monitor slowly deceasing.

My vision focused upward, toward the black ceiling. I felt my arms leave me behind, too, following my legs. Soon, I was closing my eyes, my blue, chapped lips slowly moving, whispering.

"Mama, we all go to Hell."
********

When I woke up, Heaven had not said hello. Instead, I was in a city, burned down and ruined. I looked around myself, moving in what seemed slow motion. I looked down and noticed that I was still wearing my gown, tattered, dirty, and torn. I ventured over rubble and wrought-iron plates, small fires and piles of ash. I stopped to catch my failing breath, resting my head between my hands.

A weeping woman caught my attention.

My head snapped to, bouncing my greasy jet black hair. She outstretched her arm towards me, pulling me in. I laced my cold, bony fingers with her plump, warms and allowed her to guide me towards an abandoned building. Her snow white curls, pale skin, Victorian wedding cress and gas mask stood out against the city yet fell into place. I recognized her from stories my father used to read to me.

Mother War.

"Where are we--?" my voice burned my throat.

She pulled a plump gloved finger to her face.

She pulled back a tattered black sheer curtain, and from behind it, manifested clothes. She pulled me in, like a sailboat on water.

I looked down at my hospital gown. My appearance, frail and sick, would never suffice these clothes in front of me. Nevertheless, she pushed the black peacoat, knee high stockings, black knee high boots, a corset, and long sleeved white lace dress towards me.

"Wear."

I fidgeted uncomfortably, yet undressed. The cold breeze blew in through the cracks between bricks, sending a dead shiver down my spine. I pulled on the woolen stockings, warming my numb feet. I laced the boots up my calves and pulled the dress over my bare chest. The corset then followed, with assistance from Mother War. The peacoat, nice and warm, covered my mid thigh.

I turned around and faced her. She stood there, not making a sound. She brushed my hair back, running her white fingers through my ebony mess, pulling my curls around. She placed a dirty, gray beret on my head, sticking strands behind my ears. She uncapped a small vile in her hands and brought a thumb to my lips.

"Open."

I let my lips part slightly and she applied a colored wax to blue lips. My breathing steadied and my eyes fluttered shut. When I opened them, she was gone. She had written on the dirty mirror in the corner.

"Follow the drums"

I used my bony fingers as a cleanser and wiped a small area clean.

I was beautiful.

A drum roll interrupted my marvel. People came out of every dirty crevice possible, sporting their Sunday best. Little children followed behind mothers, young boys behind older men. I followed, everyone moving so slow. I kept a heavy pace.I bobbed and wove through the sea of black and white, looking for the source of the drumming.

My eyes were greeted by a float.

A parade.

I looked around me. The crowd had gathered around the float and stood still, deathly still. My curls shook violently as I tossed and turned, a breeze blowing in, kicking up ash and confetti. I looked up at the men on the float. Who were they?

A man with a head of messy curls looked over at me and bent down, offering his hand. I took it hesitantly as he pulled me aboard. I looked up into his hazel eyes and felt comfort. His hands were alarmingly warm against my skin. I welcomed it hungrily. He let my hand drop and he continued tuning his guitar.

My eyes wandered again. Hungry for new sights. A man with short, shaggy hair and a scorpion tattoo on his neck sat on an amplifier, also tuning. He looked up at me somberly and then quickly back down, as if I was just his imagination. Another man with short black hair sat on the edge of the float, strumming his white bass. The drumming continued, reeling me in like a walleye. I tossed my head back to the left and met a man with red hair and blue eyes, playing mournfully.

I felt a warm hand grasp the scruff of my neck. I turned around and peered into these golden orbs. A man with snow white hair and a boyish features looked at me with concern. He reached down and interlaced his fingers with mine. We turned around and watched as we entered the flames.

He bent down and whispered in my ear as I stood in front of him.

"Welcome to the Black Parade."