by syndax vuzz

Beyond Six Rivers

I will speak. You will hear me someday. I have read enough books and played with enough guns to know that this can’t be it. There’s always that last bullet that you don’t manage to miss. And you fall, hoping that this is the fall that saves you. I remember falling from my cycle. It would be the same. That sudden change of view and the distinct touch of the road. I don’t remember my fall. Is it the same? Do you die missing the moment that kills you?

Do you go from alive to dead without dying? Do you understand your death only after you’ve finished dying?

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