An Hour To Die
An hour to live wouldn’t be that bad, honestly. I know that sounds silly, stupid even, but it’s true. Knowing you’re going to die is a beautiful thing because you can prepare yourself and others.
I wouldn’t tell anyone I was going to die. That would defeat the purpose of it. Death is something that sneaks up on you and pounces without a warnings notice and yet, I know that I have exactly one hour to live.
I want time to fly.
The first thing I would do is probably cry. There are some things I really love, things I will miss but I know won’t miss me. It would take me several moments to process the information; maybe it’ll take up all of my time. I don’t know. I’ve never died before.
I would then go to my room, put on my all-time favorite songs, and then curl up in bed. My bed is my safe space, in case you didn’t know. I feel calm and loved when I’m on it, comforted by what it has to offer—sleep.
Sleep is a free trial of not existing. It pauses reality for as long as you remain in that state. And it’s peaceful. When I was younger, I used to think that death was constantly painful like a wound that never heals. Now, I realize that death is just another step in life.
As time ticks down closer and closer to the minute I leave this life, I think I would start to regret my decisions. As much as life sucks, there is still joy I find in it, whether it be here or there, in this or that. Life does have meaning but it’s too late for me.
Maybe I would jump out of bed and run downstairs with a new found energy and explain to my family what was happening and tell them I love them. I would tell them not to cry too much over me, just to move on and live life.
Or maybe I would stay in bed, watching the second hand of the clock tick down, each breathe entering and leaving my lungs like the people in my life. Maybe someone will enter my room but they won’t question what I’m doing. After all, it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
They’ll probably slam the door, obeying me after so many incidents of me yelling at them to not leave it open, and maybe they’ll calm me a few choice words.
That’s fine. I’m okay with it.
I’m willing to be the subject of their anger one last time.
A tear will roll down my face. There’s no maybe involved this time; I know it will happen. I’ll curl up on my side, facing the wall and attempting to take one last deep breath as darkness washes over me.
I’ll finally have the sweet release of death, but all the dreams that died before me will have long since gone to the afterlife and I will be left to wander, nothing more than a last soul that died too soon.
