The last moments in Artemis’s life replay like a record player, over and over again.

All she can recall are flashing lights, tires screeching, and black smoke. Not to mention, her pounding headache.

Her confusion is amplified when she opens her eyes and finds herself in front of a college crowd, instead of in a hospital bed. Oh, how she’d love to be in any bed right now.

“What is the meaning of life, professor?” A student asks suddenly, breaking Artemis out of her trance.

“The meaning of life?” Artemis panics, but she does not let it show on her face, save for her tremulous fingers that dig into her forearms as she crosses her arms.

She breaths in a deep, shuddering breath. _If I give them what they want, I can leave._ She musters.

“I will begin by telling you what life is not,” She paces around the platform she finds herself in, the eyes of hundreds of students burning into her skin like lasers. “Life is not who others say you are, or who you think you need to be.” She glances among the crowd of young adults—older than she was when she died and ended up here, “Life is the tears you’ve shed, the books you’ve read, the smiles you’ve failed to hide, the hearts you’ve held, and the hugs you’ve held onto for a little longer.” A small smile graces Artemis’ lips,

“Life is everything that has led you to the point where you find yourself now. Life is getting to know yourself, and growing closer to those who are worth giving your heart to.”She finishes. The students stare at her, and her hearts begin to beat faster. Her palms are sweaty, _Did I say something wrong?_ She thinks anxiously.

It all falls away when a student starts to clap, and cheers ring around the auditorium.