First aid kit. |ASHTRAY|

Flatlined.

I can't believe this is happening again. How many times do I have to get shot before I turn 20, huh?

The answer is often.

The eight men all pull the trigger.

Eight holes in my body. And another eight. And another eight. And so on.

I'm so defenseless, it seems nearly satire.

How am I still thinking? Why am I not screaming right now? What the fuck is going on.

Nothing. Nothing is going on. At least, not what I just told you.

In fact, none of the things that happened after "near death experience two", actually happened.

You're probably confused as fuck right now. I get it. Bare with me.

I'm dead. I died just now. Not because of eight men shooting at me or something like that, but because my body couldn't assist another machine-made breath.

On August 3rd, four men infiltrated fez and ash's house, as you know. I was the only person in the house.

After a thrilling fight, I killed all four, but got shot while doing so.

I grabbed the phone, and called ashtray. While on the phone call, I lost consciousness, and ash brought me to the hospital.

You read that after a couple days, I was allowed to go back home.

I wasn't.

I never gained consciousness again. Instead, I slipped into a coma.

Ever heard of a "coma dream"?

It's where a person in a coma experiences a lifelike, almost lucid, dream.

"So was it all a dream?" No. Not all. About half of it.

So yeah.

Machines kept me alive until they couldn't, for 24 days.

I died on August 27th.

It's a sad story. It really is. I never expected it to get to this point, but it did.

To all the people that blessed me, thank you for being apart of my life.

And Ash, I'm sorry for leaving you the way I did.

Some stories don't have a pretty ending. Some do. You unfortunately don't know how a story ends until it does.

Love ya,

Quinn.