Strains

Chapter 1

Nothing has been going right for me lately. Everything, in fact, has been coming completely left. First, it was a car on a one way street.

Which, let me tell you, not a pleasant way to go AT ALL.

Then it was a mountain of paperwork. Enough to make me realize I hadn't made it to heaven. Also enough to teach me that carpel tunnel is not avoidable, even in death.

And now, coming in through the left door of my not so sterile exam room, was my next dose of hell.

"I went over your paperwork. I can't make much of an assessment considering your level of illiteracy so I had to call in a specialist."

Where the hell did that come from? I just met this guy and he handed me a stack of confusing paperwork. Hardly enough to come to the conclusion that I can't read.

"I can read just fine."

"You hardly filled out the assessment. What other conclusions am I supposed to come to?"

"Listen, Dr."

He put his hand up.

"My name is Doc. I'm not a Doctor." He says as he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a cigarette.

I nearly brake into tears.

"Not a doctor? Then what the hell am I doing here in this paper nothing gown and why are you in a lab coat?" I grab at the paper covering the table and try to cover my exposed backside. The creep chuckles and lights his cigarette.

I do not need this today. I point to the door.

"Get out."

He shrugs his shoulders and stands up from his stool. His hand slinks towards the knob, but just before he's able to turn it, it opens.

Now there are two men in the room while I'm one stray breeze away from naked. This new character isn't wearing a lab coat. So not a pretend doctor. He's dressed neatly, in a crewneck polo and starched khakis. Must be the "specialist" Doc mentioned.

"Punctual as ever, eh Matthew?" Doc says, clasping him on the shoulder. "Do what you gotta do."

That doesn't sound very professional.

Matthew peaks past him and my brown eyes meet his.

"I'll wait out here while you get dressed," he says then follows Doc outside the room and shuts the door slowly behind him. Maybe he actually is a specialist. Not that I, who spent the last three years of my life as a dedicated English major, need a literacy specialist. But at least he's handsome, so it won't feel like a complete waste of time.

I climb off the exam table and peel the paper from my skin. After two hours of shuffling through paperwork, the gown is soaked and so is the sanitary paper on the table.

Gross.

Even in death, my body is as embarrassing as ever. I throw the gown and paper away, shoving it beyond notice in the trash. A few dabs of wadded-up napkins later and I'm as fresh as I could possibly get. This is my first stop in my post-life journey, so I haven't gotten to visit ghost version Target yet for my necessary toiletries. But, then again, this isn't the good place so I'll likely have to settle for whatever the equivalent of Walmart is.

You wouldn't think to prepare for these things, but you have to. Just as the Greeks would place gold coins on the eyelids of the deceased to pay for passage across the river Styx; best stash deodorant in your pockets, if you can help it.

Luckily, I was able to die in one of my favorite sexy-ish yet comfortable pairs of panties and a bra that actually matched. One in a million. It's probably the extent of my luck that day. The dress, a navy one embroidered with gold daisies, is not as comfortable but fits well and is luckily made with cotton and not the cheap polyester that made up the rest of my living wardrobe. That's it. All the clothes that I have.

I mean, I do have a simple pair of socks and some plain white velcro sneakers that don't match the rest of my outfit. I don't remember buying them, or what would possess me to wear them with this dress; but they're comfortable, so I can deal with them.

I fix my hair in the reflection of the metal paper towel dispenser. The curly mop of brown on my head is in desperate need of TLC and probably a heavy dose of leave-in conditioner. My light caramel skin which I'm usually proud of looks dull and overly dry; but until I can get into a shower, this is as good as it'll get.

Behind me, the door swings open. Matthew walks through, holding the paperwork I tried my best to fill out earlier.

He could've knocked...

"Miss Elizabeth, please take a seat."

I skip the acrobatics of trying to jump my five-foot frame onto the exam table and settle into a nearby chair. He sits on a stool across from me.

"Doc said you had some trouble with the forms he gave you," he says, placing the clipboard on the counter.

"I know what he said, and I know it looks kinda bad, but I don't need a literacy specialist. I read all of the questions, I just couldn't answer them," I explain.

"That's fine. I'm not a literacy specialist, I'm just here to get the answers out of you."

"Like by torture?" I say, gripping the chair.

He laughs and pushes his fingers through his dark waves.

"No, of course not. Actually, we're just going to have a quick chat. Just answer my questions to the best of your ability."

I release my death grip on the chair. "Oh. Okay."

"Did Doc tell you where you are right now?"

I shake my head no. "The big guy who brought me here said something about an academy, but, as you can plainly see, I'm a little old to go back to school." 

"You're in your early twenties, correct? That's not too much older than the current student body,  and since you came here after death, you have no choice but to attend."

I cross my arms. Did I really die just to live my childhood again? I was only a few months away from my bachelor's. Now I'm being forced into starting all over. This is just cruel.

Matthew scribbles some things on the clipboard.

"So...is it a four-year sentence like high school or college? Can I test out or something?"

Matthew chuckles. 

"I'm afraid not. Enrollment lasts for eternity, or until you graduate, which, considering your assessment, I wouldn't hold my breath on."

"What the hell? Why not?"

He ignores me.

"I wouldn't worry about it. You'll have a great time at the academy. You're pretty, I bet you were popular in high school, you'll likely have the same experience here as long as you're open to it. Now if you were an introverted weakling, you'd probably be in trouble. Legacy Academy is a school dedicated to creating heroes after all."

My mind started spinning when he complimented me, but it came to a screeching halt when he mentioned high school. I was the worst kind of introvert in high school. I spent lunch in the library! The library! I had almost no friends and the ones I did have I sucked at keeping after graduation. 

"I'll talk over your assessment with Doc, when I'm finished I'll take you to the academy to finish the admissions process. We'll get your dorm assignment and your facilitator will conduct your orientation."

He grasps the door handle. No, he can't leave now, all he did was make this ten times more confusing. What the heck am I even doing here? An academy dedicated to creating heroes, what is this? Some kind of isekai anime? I can't cope with this, especially in the state I'm in. It's going to take a tub full of bubbles and a hair mask to even come close to making me comfortable with this situation.

"Wait a sec!" 

He looks over his shoulder as he opens the door. "Any necessary toiletries will be issued along with your room assignment."

Wow. It's like he read my mind.

"Yeah," he says." It's exactly like that." And he shuts the door behind him.