My mind couldn't stop. Everything was spinning. "It's his fault!" I yelled into the air. No one would hear, and nothing would happen, and maybe I didn't yell, maybe I just thought. In any way, it was a waste of energy, a waste of blood, a waste of time. The knife that struck my chest just seemed to get heavier, and heavier, and heavier. Maybe it was my chest, maybe it was my mind, playing tricks again, or maybe it was both.
Somewhere, deep in my mind, I would be thinking "No. It wasn't him. It was me. I did that." Or I didn't... My memory was too foggy to remember and my feelings too numb to comprehend.
Soon, I fell. My body was too weak. My clothes soak into the scarlet-colored blood. "And now?" I question myself. Truly, I knew what was about to come. Death.
And don't expect the next reports to be Heaven, Hell, nor any of this things that you're told. Because it's not.
YOU ARE READING
Reports Of A Dead Spirit
FantasyWhat do you think that happens when you die? Do you go to a judgment and someone decides if you're going to a paradise or a place full of torture? Or maybe nowhere, you just walk the world as a free spirit? Maybe nothing. It's just an eternal sleep...
