Twenty-One Wilted Roses

I remeber a few things about the night I died.

I remeber the impact of of the car quickly crashing agianst mine.

I remeber my head pounding hard onto the steering wheel.

I remeber the blare of my horn,

The sound of sierns,

And the feeling of a blazing pain surging throughout my body.

I remeber that I was going back to my loft that night coming home from a drag party.

I was dressed from top to bottom as a flamboyant girl.

I even looked more femine than Jeferee Star.

I was amazingly beautiful.

But when the EMT came, I was ruined.

My wig was frayed.

My makeup was smeared.

I was a horrid sight.

They dragged me from the wreckage of my car,

My blood spilling everywhere.

I knew I was dying.

You know, when people are dying they say their whole life flashes before their eyes.

Nah, I wasn't lucky enough to have that happen.

All I remeber was the following.

Once they removed me from the wreckage, they said that I was too frail to be lifted into the ambulence.

Two male EMTs layed me on a stretcher and checked my vitals.

The look in thier eyes, they looked scared, worried.

Everything that they were saying was a compleate blur.

But then they opened my shirt.

The needed to give me CPR.

I was seeing this from above now.

I was too close to death.

Death and I were fighting over control of this situation.

They noticed that I had no chest.

The one man looked grossed out.

The other looked worried.

One thought I was discusting.

The other thought I had breast cancer and my chest colasped.

Neither was right.

But they both just shrugged it off.

As they performed CPR my chest rose and fell.

I was alive again.

Back on the ground.

But my wig,

My wig,

My wig was off.

I was exposed for all to see.

The men stopped.

They walked away.

"Stupid faggots."

That was all they said.

I was dead minutes later.

I am the woman who died when the EMT s stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.