It's not my time to die

I was walking home in the 98 degree heat, craving to put my face in front of the air conditioner, and to smell the dusty odor it exposed. It was a long Monday at school, the first day of the week always seemed to be. I would have to tell mother our Monday date was off, I couldn't bear any more of this, I already had a heat headache. My mouth turned dry, I began to think I was going to die of thirst. So I continued to tell my self that I was almost home, I would soon refresh myself with a glass of ice water.
My mothers car was missing from the driveway. I was relieved to know I wouldn't have to give her that bad news right after my long walk.  At the same time of my ease I had a deep felling not to go inside the house. This urge wasn't strong enough to fight my desire for water, and I continued my way inside.
The house was abnormally cluttered. The furniture was tossed out of place, and there were broken beer bottles and light bulbs all over the floor. I normally shoved off my shoes as soon as I got home, but thought twice and ended up keeping them on. I had no idea what  might be in this jungle of junk. No one drank alcohol, not even beer, so I was confused about that.
John walked from the hallway, his clothes torn and filthy. "Dad? Are you all right." I asked assuming the answer. He got closer and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You've been drinking." John nodded. "Your late!" He bellowed. "Where have you been, is there something your not telling me?" I felt his anger and didn't want to say anything to upset him. "I missed the bus and I had to walk home." He raised his eyebrows and smiled. "It's stuffy out side, you must be thirsty... Come."  He lead me to the kitchen. "Ice?" I nodded. Dad was loopy and I could tell one wrong word would make him upset.
 The glass was filled as high as it could possibly be, as he swayed some of the liquid fell out. "Clean that up." I obeyed grabbing a towel. He didn't even put the glass to the table before I forced it out of his dirty hand and gulped it down. "Spongy are we?" Father said grabbing my glass and refilling it. I soaked up maybe three glasses before I said anything else.
"Wheres mom?" John let out a loud groan. "Your mother..." He started rubbing the back of his neck with one of his hands. He wimpered something to himself, I couldn't quite understand. "She will not be coming home. It's best you get use to an empty home. I'm starting a night time job at the market." He started looking at something, so I fallowed his eyes. A bloody knife rested on a small table. My instincts told me to gasp before I could fully understand what was happening. He wanted me to know, he lead me to the kitchen.
My heart started to race, I knew what was going to happen next. I scrambled to the door and attempted to open it, but it was locked and my hands were trembling to much to focus on the screw.  Dad grabbed the same bloody knife that was on the table and walked to me. I started to run to the other door back his long arms grabbed me before I got the chance. He pressed his cruddy hand to my mouth, blocking my scream. I closed my eyes as the blade of the knife touched my neck. "Now be a good little girl, and no one gets hurt." I started bashing the air, trying to hit anything involved with his body. He caught my waving fist and folded them across my chest. My blocked screaming continued and I grew annoyed by his hand so I bit it as hard as I could. It taste as bad as it looked.  The last thing I remembered was a fist hitting my face, knocking me out.
I woke looking down at someone, some girl. She was laying in my bed, with bruises every wear her skin revealed. She had a black eye. A man in a police uniform, writing on a note pad, was standing next to the girl. It took me a minuet but I realized that the girl was me. I was dead. Suddenly, I felt a pushing, flowing me towards my body, and soon back into it.
It was as if I blinked and when I opened my eyes back up, I was someone else. The cop looked down at me and realized I was alive. He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. There were figures, I couldn't tell what they were. I heard a soft voice. "It's not your time." It repeated over and over till it, along with the figures, were gone.
"Do you remember you name?" I looked at the man. "I remember her name." I said softly. I knew what was happening. It was my spirit talking. I soon zoomed into myself once more. "What?" He said in a stern voice. I told him my name. "Everything's going to be alright."