Chapter Text
Pain, screaming, a blood-covered face. These are the last parts of your human life that you can remember clearly. These are the last things you ever felt, heard, and saw, in that order, before you gave yourself over to the memories flashing before your eyes.
Your first day of school, the fourth-grade talent show, the field trip to the aquarium in middle school, that time Becca Channing threw up on your lap in elementary. Your first pet, the playground by your house, that time you went to the movies with your friends, that time Kyle from Algebra let you hit his dab pen. Your mother's smile, your father's voice, your brother's laugh. These were the things hitting you at a mile a minute. One right after the next, no rhyme, no reason. Just chaos. Nothing like the movies and books make it out to be.
You can't remember the last few minutes before the attack, before your death, not very well. The only thing that sticks out in the blurry haze of jumbled moments is the pretty woman with the red eyes that did this, the off vibes she had been putting out. You remember that you had thought about all the true crime documentaries you had seen as she charged. How you might become one of the kids those shows are made about. A warning to America's citizens on the dangers of being young, alone and vulnerable.
There's a part of you that wishes you could remember more, and a part that is glad you don't. The rest of you doesn't really care because what's done is done and you can't go back. All you can do is keep going and pray that your last words as a human were something memorable.