Flash Fiction Vol. 7

Dying. It’s something we all have to do. Writing about death is like writing about a food you’ve never had, or a place you’ve never been. We can’t truly know what we’re talking about until we experience it for ourselves. So, in a way, the things we have to say are just fluff. The only meaningful things you can say about death are the words you have after you’re gone—the things you can never share. Even though there is value in expressing anticipation, that doesn’t constitute a valid opinion. I don’t believe there’s another side. I think when I’m gone, I’ll be inaccessible to my loved ones, as well as myself. No thoughts, no awareness, just darkness and bliss. It’s horrifying, the most bitter truth of it all, and it’s nothing I take pleasure in believing. But every time I laugh, every hug I give, I do not take for granted. I live wild and love hard, and it all feels so worth it. Because when it’s time to go, I won’t have anything to regret. I say all this to say that today, I want to focus on the prospect of dying. Losing others, losing yourself. Losing your future, your love, and what all that time amounts to. Even if the things I have to say don’t mean much, it’s only through the process of speech that I can ever come to terms with it. I hope, with this collection, I can help you all make peace with death, and maybe open your eyes to a new perspective on life.