My name is Lorena and I don't know if I should say that I'm sixteen or not sixteen anymore or rather that I was sixteen and will continue being that age for ever. My name is Lorena and, for about a month and a half, I've been dead.
The most expert readers will be thinking that when I say I'm dead, I mean it in the figurative sense, using an exagerated and morbid metaphor, but I don't care for metaphors. I like to call a spade a spade and be understood clearly. And if I say I'm dead, what I want to say is exactly that: I'm dead. Dead and buried, to be exact.
The thing is that I've got absolutely no idea of why I'm dead and for what purpose I'm still here. And for that reason, I don't even know how I ended up dead…