Twelve

Twelve hours may seem a long time.

If you had to catch a twelve-hour flight to some distant location, it would seem like an eternity.

If you were to walk for twelve hours, your legs would ache and your eyelids would droop.

If you decided to chain yourself to a tree in protest, and remained in place for twelve hours, you would surely be exhausted by the end of the ordeal.

But today, twelve hours is nowhere near enough time. Not enough time to do all the things we want to do.

But we can try. We can try to do all the things we've ever wanted. We can help her achieve one or two dreams.

Or we can spend the next twelve hours silently crying as she lies in bed, slowly slipping away from us.

She herself selected the first one: on her feet, embracing everything around her.

With adrenalin pumping through her veins.

With her heart filling with warmth.

With joyous memories in her mind.

This is how my sister had decided to die.

The End

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