All I can remember about my final few moments spent on Earth is immeasurable amounts of pain. Agonizing, excruciating pain. I didn't see who had cut my life short so suddenly, and for that I am thankful. I'm not quite sure I'd be able to go on - not living exactly, existing perhaps - knowing who had murdered me and yet being able to do nothing about it.
The funny thing about death is that it seems so final. That's the end of the line for you, your life is gone, flushed down the drain. But it isn't. Not for me anyway.
I have no concept of time so I am not sure how much passed before I realized I wasn't going to leave the Earth any time soon. It could have been weeks, it could have been months.
It could have been mere seconds.
I remember "waking up" right next to where I had died. My first thought was that I was still living, I had somehow survived. But the bloodstains on the concrete and the yellow police tape cordoning off the area told me different. Plus I felt... weird. Really strange. Like I wasn't quite whole, I was on the edge of something unexplainable, which is what I am I guess. I'm not alive, but I'm not dead either, because death doesn't mean roaming around still fully able to hear and see everything around you.
The first thing I did was head home. Let me tell you something, that was painful. I couldn't stay for too long; it was difficult.
My parents were both wrecks. My mother just sat in her bedroom in the dark, staring at the wall. Her cheeks were tear stained, red and blotchy. My father answered various calls, thanking people for their kind words but requesting privacy at the moment. He had always been such a anchor for the family though, he was the strong one.
I watched my mother for several minutes, thinking about all the memories that we had shared and which we could do no more. I tried touching her cheek and she seemed to shiver ever so slightly, but my fingers just ended up passing through her. How I wanted to comfort her, to tell her it was okay.
My father opened the door at that moment and sat on the edge of the bed. My parents shared a look and all at once the grief seemed to stagger through them. They held each other, my mother sobbing furiously in my father's arms.
I walked away, not wanting to see anymore.