Seed

1

     I wonder if dying hurts. I wonder if your body tries to fight to the last heartbeat or if it just gives up. I wonder what it feels like when you're drifting through the air, as many, rather than one. Or when you drift off as seeds, planning to be reborn as something new.  It never occurred to me until today.
     Death is a strange subject. When it creeps into conversations, people shy away and their emotions crease and crumble. It's frowned upon. Yet, there are some that dare to take the risk. They die by choice. They fling themselves into the void, some proud and arrogant, some depressed and eager.
     It's weird to me how some like to kill, and others like to die. Like it's a game, or a sport.
     He trounced through the door, his clips full and loaded. The magazine wasn't missing a single bullet. I could tell because right after the roar of screams erupted through the music hall, he cocked his gun and began to aim at random students. The initial fire is far worse than the rest, I've been told. It was true. I heard the discharge for only a split second before my eardrums clamped up, and all I could hear was ringing. I couldn't hear the rest of the shots, which I'm honestly not sure was a good thing or a bad thing. I saw students fall, and blood spurt on to the walls behind them. Some on the posters plastered to the classroom doors. Some pooling into the floor. He slowly plows his way in my direction. I try to stay calm, yet my hands fidget, and my knees get weak. My mind goes blank, and I panic, watching the gun go off, shot after shot. In a flash, I can see down the barrel of his gun, dark and menacing.

      Dying hurts.