This is Not the End, This Has Not Even Come to Pass

This is not the end, this has not even come to pass.

That’s what I thought when I knew I was going to die.

What else do you think when you die? You think about the last meal you ate. I had a turkey sandwich. I doubt anyone ever eats the last meal they compose when asked. I think that’s an awful question. No one ever asks what will be your last smell, or who will be your last true love.

This is to say, we take dying very lightly. For all the fuss we give it, we are still prepared to launch into our last meal.

I will not think about my last meal. When I knew I was going to die I thought about breathing. The car was hurdling down the hill and sliding into the rocks and all I could do was breathe in as much air as possible, holding it in my lungs. The glass fractured and I could taste pebbles of it in my mouth cutting up the insides of my cheeks.

This is not the end, I want to think. This has not even come to pass.

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