Windscript Volume 24, 2007-2008 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild

The Magazine of Saskatchewan High School Writing
Annette Nedilenka
My Blunt Obituary
In some cases you can choose the way you want to die. In others you have no choice. I sometimes thought about death
in general, that the way I die will change the way I will remain in this world or carry on in the next. All I know is that
when you die, you want to go back.
A birth and death date are just a record, a log of your life span. Does it contribute to who we are? We need to know
everything and anything in our lives to know one thing; our meaning to breathe, think and feel. It’s just the basic senses
of recognizing the environment and relationships around us. But really, we don’t pay much attention anyways. I think the
real meaning of life is to search for the meaning of life, and when you figure that out and actually find what we are living
for you’ll say,
“Oh. I think I’ll have some tea.”
Or you’ll say, “I fancy dying now.”
Once I wished I was dead just to know what it felt like. Because that’s all we do everyday, we live.
Well the simple way I died was not my fate, my choice, nor was it to happen for a reason. I died because the laws of
nature decided it to be so. I died by getting hit by a bus. Bluntly.
On January 22, 2015.
Simple as that.
And when you are laying on that stretcher, piercing sirens lap out like an opera singing your favourite ballad, plastic gloved
hands trying so hard to bring you back, and all you can think is, “Just give up already.”
Everyone dies alone, whether they are embraced or not. They travel through time like a backwards circuit. And the
flight is better off alone. Wouldn’t it be annoying to have someone beside you in a theatre calling out every few seconds,
“Wow! Awesome! Oh my goodness, that’s so sad. What’s gonna happen now?”
Wouldn’t it?
Winter slowly chilled my non-existent pulse. That’s all I could feel, I guess. But I didn’t really notice, because it was just
happening, not me analyzing every little nerve break. You can only die once, so you should remember it.
The classic death tunnel. People say all you can see is white. Well, in my case it was because I was looking up and there
was snow.
Snowflakes. Fuck.
windScript
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volume 24