Is This What Happens After Death?
The world was dark, almost a shade of blood red. No wait, it was blood red. Blood had seeped into my eyes, shading my vision from the look of horror upon that bitch's face... and his.
It was over. His dry and cold heart was gone and I had let it go. I never realized that he had let his heart stray. I knew he had his... escapades... but he always came home. I had turned into what my mother had always warned against. Don't nag your man about the other women, she said. It's a part of life. But he actually said the word ... love... in reference to her. He had never said it with me. I suppose it was just understood. And a child... they were to bear a child together, and they were... excited.
Beyond that, I knew any breath I took from that moment on was wasted. There's a satisfaction in terminating your own life, that release of not having to worry about anything anymore. You can only do it once the correct way, and there's no turning back.
I found myself not dead, but in an alley. Realizing I wasn't dead and in the pits of fiery Hell confused me. The alley around me loomed, filling its stench in my nose. It was just as dirty as the one in London, if not worse, and others had spraypainted the walls in a hand I could never compare to. Blood had followed me. It was on my clothes, which were the same I had worn in London, and in my hair. My eyes widened as I noticed my hair was no longer black with coloured streaks, but white. I went to shriek, noticing the pain had lingered, that my heart felt as if it were bursting. No breath with substance would come out.
Panic Panic Panic
I shuffled up, amazed that I could stand. How am I... alive? The paint splattered brick wall was my support, and it felt as real as anything. A few timid steps later to the end of the alley, and I saw it. The Space Needle.
It was over. His dry and cold heart was gone and I had let it go. I never realized that he had let his heart stray. I knew he had his... escapades... but he always came home. I had turned into what my mother had always warned against. Don't nag your man about the other women, she said. It's a part of life. But he actually said the word ... love... in reference to her. He had never said it with me. I suppose it was just understood. And a child... they were to bear a child together, and they were... excited.
Beyond that, I knew any breath I took from that moment on was wasted. There's a satisfaction in terminating your own life, that release of not having to worry about anything anymore. You can only do it once the correct way, and there's no turning back.
I found myself not dead, but in an alley. Realizing I wasn't dead and in the pits of fiery Hell confused me. The alley around me loomed, filling its stench in my nose. It was just as dirty as the one in London, if not worse, and others had spraypainted the walls in a hand I could never compare to. Blood had followed me. It was on my clothes, which were the same I had worn in London, and in my hair. My eyes widened as I noticed my hair was no longer black with coloured streaks, but white. I went to shriek, noticing the pain had lingered, that my heart felt as if it were bursting. No breath with substance would come out.
Panic Panic Panic
I shuffled up, amazed that I could stand. How am I... alive? The paint splattered brick wall was my support, and it felt as real as anything. A few timid steps later to the end of the alley, and I saw it. The Space Needle.
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Lime?