Dying Thoughts

Hour 1:

Shit shit shit shit shit. I thought I made it out okay, but the blood slowly dripping onto my dirt-streaked Converse says otherwise. I look at my forearm, and indeed there it is - a series of tooth-shaped punctures about an inch long. I only have 24 hours left to live; 24 hours until I turn into one of them. I should probably just shoot myself while I still can.

Hour 2:

I've been sitting here for 45 minutes with a pistol pressed to my temple, but I can't fucking do it. Every time I move my finger to the trigger, I just start crying. I really don't want to die, but I don't want to change either. I wish Monica were still here; she'd know exactly what to say right now. She'd squeeze my shoulder and say, "It's okay, I'm here. You're okay. You can do this, Char. I love you." This never would have happened if she were here. I'm so stupid. I never should have gone back there, but I just needed to see her one last time before I left. At least she will be the one to kill me, instead of some stranger.

Hour 3:

I should get up. I need to get up. I can't spend my last day lying on the ground sulking. Might as well go eat something, no point in rationing my food anymore. Nothing appeals to me anymore, knowing I won't even be able to digest it fully. I think I'll have the can of fruit. I was saving that for our anniversary in a few weeks, but no point in saving it now. Happy anniversary to us then. How happy, I'm dying, and you're…

Hour 4:

You know what I really miss? Being able to get drunk. I could really use some vodka or something right now. Anything to keep me from having to think. Jesus fuck, I'm going to die, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Except I won't even get the mercy of actually dying. My fate is to become like her. She would probably kill me if she knew what I'd done to get here. Why didn't I listen to her? Why didn't I shoot her as she asked? She knew what was going to happen and wanted to protect me, but I couldn't. And now I'm dying too.

Hour 5:

I miss you so much. It's been so long since you left me. I can't do this anymore, Monica. Not without you. The last 143 days have been the worst ones of my life. I counted every one, hoping each time that some magical blue fairy would bring you back if only I just wished hard enough. But each morning, I woke up and was still alone. Now I'm going to die alone.

Hour 6:

18 hours left. What did I do wrong to deserve this fate? Is this supposed to be god's punishment for lesbians? Christ, I'm really starting to sound like my mom. Sometimes I'm almost glad she got bitten in the first week. The only thing that could make this hellscape worse is if I had to deal with her shit too. I hate this so much.

Hour 7:

The sunset is beautiful, you would love it. The sky is streaked with orange and purple, and scattered with pink fluffy clouds that look just like the cotton candy they sell at Syttende Mai. I miss Syttende Mai. I'd wait at the race's finish line to see you sprint past me, and then we'd go buy cheese curds and cotton candy from the food stands. You'd always steal my cheese curds because you were so hungry. Then we would go to the oak tree by the post office to sit and watch the toddlers, dressed in their bunads walk by waving their tiny Norwegian flags, surrounded by the scents of mini donuts and burning corn-on-the-cob. Those were the happiest days of my life. I'd give anything to go back to that.

Hour 8:

I don't want to go to bed. I can't waste these precious hours I have left. There's still so much left for me to do. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to graduate high school, travel, get a degree, get married, work my dream job, have kids, become a grandparent, and so much more. But I can't do that if I go to sleep. I can't do that with 16 hours left.

Hours 9-16:

I'm so happy to see you again. I've missed you so much. Can we go to the oak tree? Why not? What do you mean, not yet? Why can't I stay? Please don't leave me, please! I can't do this again!

Hour 17:

I think that was Monica last night. She told me I couldn't go with her. She said it wasn't the right time. She said I had to go back. It couldn't have been her, though; she's in the library. But if it was, I have to believe her. I have to make it through these last few hours, and then we can go to the oak tree together.

Hour 18:

I just put on my favorite clothes, because I might as well look good when I…

I'm wearing those light blue Target jeans, my swim team hoodie, and my "zombie ass-kicking" boots. How ironic that those boots are the ones I'll be wearing when I become a zombie myself.

Hour 19:

"Smoking cigarettes on the roof/You look so pretty and I love this view/We fell in love in October/That's why I love fall/Looking at the stars/Admiring from afar/My girl, my girl, my girl/You will be my girl/My girl, my girl, my girl/You will be my world/My world, my world, my world/You will be my girl/Smoking cigarettes on the roof/You look so pretty and I love this view/Don't bother looking down/We're not going that way/At least I know I am here to stay/We fell in love in October/That's why I love fall/Looking at the stars/Admiring from afar/My girl, my girl, my girl/You will be my girl/My girl, my girl, my girl/You will be my girl/My girl, my girl, my girl/You will be my girl/My girl, my girl, my girl/You will be my world/My world, my world, my world/You will be my girl"

Hour 20:

I guess I'll have some breakfast before…

Do I only have canned beans? What the hell? Beans it is, I guess. If only I could listen to some Girl In Red or Green Day right now, it would probably make this less depressing. I'm sitting on a bucket, eating cold beans out of a can as I cry about my imminent doom. Green Day would definitely make me feel better.

Hour 21:

"Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road/Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go/So make the best of this test, and don't ask why/It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time/It's something unpredictable/But in the end, it's right/I hope you had the time of your life/So take the photographs and still frames in your mind/Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time/Tattoos of memories, and dead skin on trial/For what it's worth, it was worth all the while/It's something unpredictable/But in the end, it's right/I hope you had the time of your life/It's something unpredictable/But in the end, it's right/I hope you had the time of your life/It's something unpredictable/But in the end, it's right/I hope you had the time of your life"

Hour 22:

Happy birthday. I wish you were here to celebrate with me. You'd be 17 now. I can't believe it's been almost a year since everything happened. On that day, you picked me up at my house to take me to school. You were so excited to finally have your license, and then you almost ran a red light 5 minutes into the drive. One of the drivers flipped you off, and we looked to see who it was, and it was Mr. Thompson. We probably laughed for a good 10 minutes after that. You never did finish that book I got you for your birthday.

Hour 23:

I've got to stop crying; it's ruining my paper. My pencil keeps ripping holes in the paper where my tears land. I just wanted to draw her. I still remember every detail of her face; I don't think I could ever forget. I need to visit her. I need to say goodbye.

Hour 24:

I'm so happy to see you again. I've missed you so much. Let's go to the oak tree.