Still Dying: A Short Story

Still Dying

I was dying, that much was clear.
My breathing was laboured,
My vision was growing fuzzy,
And all I could think was,
This is it.

Dying isn’t the way they say.
I mean, it kind of is.
There isn’t a bright white light,
But it is kind of like falling asleep—
Slow and lonely.

And, even though I didn’t die,
Part of me feels as if I did.
My life has felt frozen ever since,
And nothing I do means anything.
So, what now?

Some days I wish I had died.
I could have skipped the suffering,
The waiting, and the pain.
I could have let it all go.
Why was I saved?

What purpose do I have now?
I should do something with my life,
But it’s hard to tell my story
When only I can see that
I’m still dying.