[WP] Inner Dialogue

A Writing Prompt from Reddit, about Inner Dialogue. The prompt was: The anniversary of your death passes every year, you just don’t know it. 

_____________________

I died today.

In my final moments, I thought back to all the other days I’d had on this particular date. This date that would be etched in my tombstone, this date that was the end of the dash. The date on the right end of the dash that meant life was over. MY life was over.

My vision began to fade, focused on the date on the calendar hanging in the hospital room. I closed my eyes to prevent the depression that would following losing my eyesight. If they were closed I could still pretend they would work when I opened them next. They said this would happen. There was nothing they could do. It was just my time, but did it have to be today?

My breaths came in ragged gasps, shallow and painful, another reminder of my coming demise. There was nothing they could do for that either, not when the body begins to shut down. My body was no longer mine, it belonged to something else.

I didn’t want to think about the end though. I needed to think about the life I’d lived. The specific memories, and the simple things I’d always loved. The moment I’d had on this day, when I’d been free from the knowledge that years down the road it would be my final day.

Laughter, family gathered around the large oak table my grandfather had built from scratch after the Great War. The ensuing arguments when someone was caught cheating.

Fresh baked cookies, ready for my brothers and I to start icing. The one year we ate half of them before they made it out to everyone else, but never did again, eager to avoid the stomachache.

My first beer, how I’d hated and loved that. My father had snuck it to me the day I turned thirteen, my Mom yelling when she found out.

Snow. Icicles hanging from the roof.

The day I lost my virginity, to the most beautiful girl in school. For some reason, she liked me. It was my present. I’ll take the taste of her lips with me to the afterlife.

Snowball, a birthday gift when I turned 8, a Samoyed that died a year ago. I hoped she’d meet me at the gates of heaven.

My wedding, under white lights, adding another thing to celebrate on that day.

This day would now forever be marred by my departure from this world.

It was Christmas after all, and who wanted to die on Christmas?

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