What does it feel like to die? Think of it like a hole. A sullen, sinking hole, one that traps you and slowly drags you further down, like quicksand but inescapable and resolute. No hope.
That’s what it feels like to die in this world.
Your breath quickens, teasing the life right out of you, and then slows, shutting your organs and releasing endorphins. The body is quite interesting in how it copes with dying. It knows when death is near and, after a whole life of wishing to be in tune with your body, you suddenly are.
You know it’s the end.
You know how to fall asleep and allow the darkness to take you away.
You know how to slow your organs, shhhh, until the wheels in your brain stop churning orders.
Silence.
You know death is near when you hear nothing and think of nothing, even while you’re saying you last words.
“Good-bye” can be heard, whispered by the friendliest of appendages. Goodbye love, your fingers cry, I’ve had fun working with you. Goodbye, chant your legs, carrying you gave me meaning. Goodbye, says your brain, I wish we had longer.
And as you are pulled under forcibly, and yet, gently, you, too, say goodbye.
Goodbye world, I whisper, finally going. I hope you do better.
