*A journal entry by Dragonfly*
We spoke of death today. In History class of all places. I don’t know what will happen to me if I die. What if it’s something awful? What if it’s nothing at all? What if I just cease to exist? I suppose that’s better than something awful. But I like living. The teacher said that death is just the next great adventure, the missing pieces to the puzzles we can’t complete in life. I’d rather complete those puzzles in life.
What if I die tomorrow? What if my Dad dies? Who will I have left? I saw Mom, they tried not to let me, but I saw her. I heard. It was painful. It wasn’t instant. Such excrutiating pain and suffering, all just to die and leave everyone else alone. I don’t want to do that to my Dad. It’s scary to think that I don’t have a future, that I could walk out of my house tomorrow and get hit by a car or shot. I’m not through here yet. Does that mean I’ll still die? Surely other people who do die don’t think they’re through, but they’re left no choice. Do miracles happen when you fight so hard because you don’t want to go? Does that mean my mom wanted to go? I know I’m talking silly, but it hurts. All of the burns, the loss of her legs, so much pain. How can I blame her for letting go? And yet I do. I never want to make somebody else feel like that. It sounds conceited in a way, but I know I’d be grieved for, I don’t want to cause the loss, the tears, the emptiness that feels like a black hole slowly sucking at the center of your heart, churning your insides as they fall into nothingness. Perhaps that sounds overdramatic, but that’s what it feels like, that empty spot that used to hold my mother. My last memory seeing her so burned you could hardly recognize her.
I won’t go, I refuse to go! But what good will that do when death comes for me?