Dead or What?
The death
She was lying there, on that hospital bed. She was so young, so full of life, but that was dissapearing from each second that passed.
She was alone in the room. Just her and the beeping of the machine.
beep, beep, beep, beep, beeeeeeeep, beeeeeeeep...
The doctors ran inside. Her eyes where closed. All that noise and confusion didn't bother her deep sleep. A sleep that got deeper, and deeper, and the doctors couldn't do anything about it.
beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep
She was gone. Her already pale skin was paler, her glossy eyes lost their shine underneath her closed lids. Her heart stopped beating and her lungs stopped breathing.
She died alone, whith lots of dreams to fulfil.
She is me, better, she was me.
My name is Sarah Stone. I'm 25, or was, when I died. I saw no point in counting it anymore.
I was shot, whith no friends or family to cry my accident.
No, this isn't a sad story, about me, feeling sorry for myself. So if you wanted that kind of story, you can stop reading. You won't find it here.
I enjoyed dying. It was the best that I ever felt (although that's not very hard to do). I felt light and free.
When my funeral arrived, my mother was there, along with some family. She looked sad but she didn't cry. I didn't expect her to.
I saw it as they put my lifeless body underground.
I liked my final resting place. If I had the chance to choose a graveyard, I would choose that one. It had grass, trees, flowers. It wasn't a sad place and becouse I wasn't sad, it went perfectly.
My grave spelled "loved Sarah Marie Stone". Yeah right...
She was alone in the room. Just her and the beeping of the machine.
beep, beep, beep, beep, beeeeeeeep, beeeeeeeep...
The doctors ran inside. Her eyes where closed. All that noise and confusion didn't bother her deep sleep. A sleep that got deeper, and deeper, and the doctors couldn't do anything about it.
beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep
She was gone. Her already pale skin was paler, her glossy eyes lost their shine underneath her closed lids. Her heart stopped beating and her lungs stopped breathing.
She died alone, whith lots of dreams to fulfil.
She is me, better, she was me.
My name is Sarah Stone. I'm 25, or was, when I died. I saw no point in counting it anymore.
I was shot, whith no friends or family to cry my accident.
No, this isn't a sad story, about me, feeling sorry for myself. So if you wanted that kind of story, you can stop reading. You won't find it here.
I enjoyed dying. It was the best that I ever felt (although that's not very hard to do). I felt light and free.
When my funeral arrived, my mother was there, along with some family. She looked sad but she didn't cry. I didn't expect her to.
I saw it as they put my lifeless body underground.
I liked my final resting place. If I had the chance to choose a graveyard, I would choose that one. It had grass, trees, flowers. It wasn't a sad place and becouse I wasn't sad, it went perfectly.
My grave spelled "loved Sarah Marie Stone". Yeah right...