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P R E F A C E
I'd always thought about what it would be like to die.
I thought about what my last moments would be like often enough that I could almost picture what I hoped for as clear as if it was happening: dull and brooding skies, the welcoming smell of damp grass and pine branches or the slick wetness of the cool rain that people like me were drawn to. There was a sense of rebirth in every dream of death that I had, as morbid as it sounded. I suppose there was a minuscule part of me that always hoped I would get a second go, another chance to do it right the second time round.
But I knew that without a soul I could never go to heaven and would probably never be granted the gift of reincarnation no matter who I put false faith into. There was always a looming sense of darkness that followed me, something I had a feeling would overcome me, swallowing me whole so I was entombed within it for the rest of eternity. Forever was a long time to be stuck in your own mind, I would know.
I glazed over any though of cause of death. I was cautious enough to never even dabble at the line of danger- too scared of the prospect of impeding nothingness that was as possible as any other theory, that it could never be an accident. In terms of noticeability, I was neither a threat nor eye-catcher.
But all the same, it had never been death that I was afraid of... it was life. I was afraid of the extra life line that would last forever. I hadn't even wanted it in the first place.
