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Summary
Death was kind to me. Instead of feeling a sharp pain where the knife plunged into my chest, I felt a prick of a needle. Then nothing, well, nothing physical or painful. All I felt was a feeling like floating or lightness filled me, as my killer's face dimmed from view. I guess from the outside it may have seemed as if the light drained from my eyes, but to me? It was like the world lost all color, draining from blues and browns to grays and whites. Than the gray faded away, and all I could see was white. A brilliant and bright white. Then he showed me his face and I realized: death had been kind. He took as much of the pain away as he could afford, feeling it all himself. He had made my death fast, so that it seemed it had only taken seconds, when in reality it had taken minutes.