Am I dead?
The question lingered endlessly, ruthlessly savaging at the corners of my whole desperately searching for an answer. The stinging in my chest thumped to the beat of my heart, and I stayed unmoving, unfeeling, simply listening to the sounds that happened to fly by.
It's a cold place, an empty shell that echoes solitude. Depression, sadness, agony, frustration, but most of all, silence. Somehow, I could feel its presence, like a pet helplessly howling for its master to come back home. Its pain seared through me like wildfire, like a home that called back familiarity, it was all nothing new to me. Nostalgia simply had it's way of blunting the dagger that pierced my heart each and every time I happened to remember those days.
My mind lingered, if I were dead, how would I have died? If I were dead, is anyone crying for my absence, or was I just a simple trinket that could have been thrown away any time?
The chill of darkness engulfed me, swallowing me whole like the greedy sucker it is. Weaker and weaker, I felt my life draining out from my body, my body tensed, almost struggled, knowing that soon the end was near.
But all too soon, everything stopped. All I could feel was a little more dead than before, a little more pessimistic, and perhaps a unque new sensation began to manifest...