It was bittersweet,
the moment I made peace with my death. I always conjured and imagined all the possible ways I could die.
Death by gunshot—yes, I always thought of myself as bad ass. Shoot me.
Death by being run over— I am a clutz, surprise surprise.
And possibly a thousand different more. Morbid, I know. But this? Dying like this? Nope. Never this.
Its a slow burn. Feeling the salty water scathing my lungs, rendering me breathless. There was nothing else left for me to do but to succumb to the darkness eating away at me. You may think, "why isn't she trying to save herself?"
Oh but I have, actually, but by some messed up fate—and my state of immobility and lack of air to actually breathe—my doors won't budge.
It was so easy to just let myself get taken away. Its so peaceful down here. I'm surprised I'm not fighting this. But maybe some twisted part of me has long accepted the fact that it is my time.
I've somewhat evaded death the first time but I guess someone really wants me dead, huh? Maybe drowning wouldn't be such a bad way to go.
With that thought in mind, my body has started to lose all its feeling, finally catching up to my supposed predicament— a complete understatement.
And a pair of blue eyes are the last thing I saw before everything finally turned black.
