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The Strength of Fragility


Bella once said that death was easy. That it was fast and kind, stuck in a numbing senselessness where everything around you seems softer. Everything is more beautiful because you are living your last moments.

She was wrong. Death is fierce and painful. It’s not fast, it’s slower than the ticking dial of a clock, each chime sucking out life as it moves. You stay there, your body only becoming numb after hours of excruciating pain, strike after strike wearing you down until your body is frozen, too worn to care anymore about the effects that’s happening to it.

You wait in a hospital bed, or at the side of a road, watching life move by in a slow mocking rhythm. You can’t stretch out to take it, to claim it back. It’s too far out of reach.

And your vision fades, and the pain starts to come back so in those last moments, you can’t see the beautiful things around you. You can’t see anything but blurring lights and the creeping fog that starts down at your toes, rendering everything useless and crawls like a predator up your body, reaching your fingers, your shoulders, your heart and then it starts to darken your eyes so everything is black, and dark. And that is when you have to accept death.

That there is no going back from it, for Death has chosen you.

And even if you want to, you cannot wish to see him one more time. Because you are leaving, leaving everything behind as you begin to drift away, hearing his voice in your ear, and as much as you want to open your eyes to meet his golden irises one last time, you can’t.

Because then you are gone. And everything fades away.