Bring Out Your Dead

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Owen Steinbeck was an awkward thirteen-year-old girl with ghostly backup...What could go wrong? Owen awoke to the sound of Darth Vader's rhythmic heavy breathing. A very cool birthday gift or so she'd thought at the time. It had easily taken her half of the night to fall asleep and it felt like only five minutes had elapsed since she'd managed to tune out the droning voices in her head and closed her eyes. No, no, no...I don't want to get up. Owen misjudged her swing for the snooze button and yanked on the cord. Darth landed right on her face. It hurt like hell. She covered her eye as she wandered over to look at the damage in the mirror. That was going to leave a mark. When your morning starts with a black eye from Darth Vader, you just know the Sith is going to hit the fan. This day was going to suck.

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