She’d always wondered if there’s life after death. Even as a child, when she couldn’t understand herself, she fixated on the bigger picture. The world would end as tidal waves consumed the land. Fire would rage until there was nothing left to burn. The air would be intoxicated with poison. An asteroid would smash the planet to smithereens. She plagued herself constantly with how the world would end.

As she grew up the world became smaller. Her thoughts still tried to exert their control and she rebelled against them. She wouldn’t die in a plane crash. She wouldn’t suffocate on vomit. She wouldn’t get cancer. She wouldn’t be murdered. None of these things happened. Nothing happened at all.

Her life was long and completely made up of her thoughts. She was the author and claimed to have no exertion on her involvement in the script. She denied that she had any choice over how each day would pan out.

It’s only now as her breath shallows and her heart slows that she understands that life is full of endless possibilities and death is but a by-product.


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