February 25, 1982
I am fifteen years old.
I am dying.
Fifteen is a relatively young age, but I suppose I've had a good life. I'm young and I'm stupid, though, so I have my fair share of mistakes. What is one to expect, though, from a girl so young? Perfection is something we all strive for but it is so out of reach. Believe it or not, I, Runny Cole, am not perfect.
As I lie here in the middle of the street, my vision is fuzzy. I can hear screaming and the distant wail of a siren and what I hope is sobbing. Above me, my sister leans over my body and slaps my cheeks, begging for me to stay. I can feel myself nodding and comforting her. We both know my words are lies. I believe that's what I regret most in my short life; the lies I've told. Even if they were for the greater good, they were lies.
I accept that I'm going to die. I'm not going to fight it. Death is inevitable in the end and it's only those who fear it that never live in the first place. I never did think that I would die in such a way as I am. I was hit by a car, you see; a drunk driver, to be exact. My ribs are completely shattered and I am bleeding badly.
I reach up to touch the face of Lilly. My fingers leave streaks of red as I run them over her cheeks. She's crying, now. My sister cries beautifully, like the actors in films. Her face doesn't turn red and blotchy like my own, and her shimmering chocolate eyes don't swell. She cries delicate diamond tears instead that make her cheeks light up when the sun hits them just right.
Lilly brushes my hair out of my face, whispering words I cannot hear. I can only hope that she is saying her final goodbye or is telling me how much she loves me. I wish I could hear her. Lilly is a beautiful young girl who cries diamond tears and has a voice of an angel. I used to tell her that she was a lost princess, and I would tell her stories of a made-up castle where she would have grown up with a better sister and a devoted set of parents. She stopped believing my stories last year, when she turned seven. God, they grow up fast
Now she has to grow up without her sister .I feel selfish for dying.
The noise in my ears slowly mellow out into a continuous ringing. It's nothing but a simple, endless buzz of noise, like a heart monitor that is attached to a corpse. I don't like the ringing, but I know in a few moments it will be over, and I will be gone.
There is darkness that is seeping into my vision. It hurts to breathe; it hurts so much to keep going. Everything hurts. Every part of me hurts. I am in pain. I feel selfish for dying, but I can't help but want to die. The pain is too much, both the mental and the physical. Lilly is watching me suffer, which brings the mental pain, and my shattered bones and pierced lungs is the physical.
Somehow, my hearing returns. Lilly is screaming for help but passersby do nothing but stare at us in horror. One man covers the eyes of his daughter. Humans are disgraceful creatures. Help her, I want to scream, help my sister! Do something! They continue to stare.
It is a struggle to force my voice to come out, but I do it for her. "Shh," I croak, "shh."
"Stop," sobs Lilly, "don't waste your precious breath! There's an ambulance on its way. They'll come and they'll save you! Don't die on me, Runny! Come on, just a few more minutes."
"Shh," I repeat. "Little Princess Lilly, don't you dare shed a tear. The world..." I cough. "The world doesn't deserve them..." I falter.
"Don't shed a tear; the world doesn't deserve them, so keep them right here." She pressed my hand on her heart, which was pounding. Did hearts really beat that quickly? My heart was hardly pulsing at all. I could count seconds between the moments that it would beat. It was up to five- five seconds between each and every pulse.
My vision is nearly completely gone, my heartbeat is almost vanished, and my hearing is again beginning to fade away. This is what death feels like, but the pain is going away. No more pain, no more hurting; this is what they mean by goodbye cruel world. It means that feeling is finally gone. It means that there can be nothing to hurt you. Nothing can harm you in the afterlife.
I use the last of my energy to say goodbye to my sister. It's a weak goodbye. I can barely force the word from my throat. "G-goodbye," I whisper to her, my hand going limp. "My princess..."
And I die.
