• How will it be when I die?
    Will it hurt? Will I be asleep?
    Who will take me?

    The blue hour. Twilight. Crepuscular. It has many names the time of the day where is neither day nor night, it isn’t dark nor light. People walk in the cities, enjoying the time of the day when they can do outdoor activities without having to worry about the sunlight staining their pale skins; shops start to close, and businesspeople get out of their jobs, ready to spend time with their families, or being alone in their homes, surely colder than ever due to this year’s winter, one of the coldest the country has seen.

    Isabella Doyle was driving her new red ford focus, feeling like Paris Hilton as her car drove over a small pond, the dirty water splashing everywhere like one of those car commercials you see on TV. Her radio was loudly playing Welcome to the Black parade by My Chemical Romance, and the woman’s fingers were drumming the beat against the steering wheel. Sometimes she would sing a line or two, and then laugh at her husky voice, which wasn’t in any way made for singing. Then she would step on the gas pedal, and repeat.

    She had just come from the class reunion, celebrating five years since her senior year in high school. Everything seemed perfect, she talked to old friends and foes, met new people, drink a couple of drinks and laughed a lot; that was until somebody announced that Matt died last month from cancer, after having survived it for three years. The news sent shivers down Isabella’s spine; Matt was one of her ex-boyfriends—the first one, to be exact—; they had been dating for one year, and in that short year, Isabella changed completely, both in the inside and out, always feeling safe and protected beside her first love, and the strongest one she had ever felt of a living thing. Then he suddenly broke up with her after a trivial fight. Since then, Isabella had used all of her hate and directed it at him, a hatred that lasted until their senior year, where the last words they said to each other were an empty “Congratulations” and “See ya soon”

    After the news, she had just said goodbyes and gone away, ignoring his ex-classmates’ warnings about driving while drinking, listening to My Chemical Romance as loud as she could, so she could distract herself from thinking about death; at the end, she had ended up singing about death. How pathetic.

    Sometimes I get the feeling, she's watching over me
    And other times I feel like I should go

    Laughing at her own stupidity, she reached out to change the song, and in that short second, everything changed. Screams; people running; a loud sound, like a crash; something that sent her back on the seat with an incredible strength; then a sharp pain in her head and chest that let her breathless. Soon she realized, among the confusion, the shock and the smell of tires burning, that she had crashed, that she had just a couple of hours—or minutes—before she died. With a shaking hand, and trying to ignore the sharp sting that crossed her body, she reached out to her head, and felt the sticky substance coming out of a deep wound in her forehead, that was staining her blond hair and her new dress, especially bought for the occasion. She couldn’t feel her legs, and her chest was in a numb pain that was making breathing a difficult task for her. After what it seemed like a painful eternity, she closed her eyes and passed out, catching the glimpse of a silhouette just before letting herself drift into darkness.

    The pain was worse when Isabella woke up. A blinding light and tubes, something sharp cutting her, hands touching her, checking her, a beep beep somewhere around her was trying her patience; she wanted to scream, to yell at the unknown persons who were trying to save her; to tell them to stop the pain, to act fast, that she was dying. As if her mind wasn’t in the mood to fight, the song she was listening to just before the crashed filled her mind

    We'll carry on,
    And though you're dead and gone believe me
    Your memory will carry on
    We'll carry on
    And though your broken and defeated
    Your weary widow marches

    It was as she was alone now, trying to fight for survival, when her mind and her heart gave up to be numbing pain, and were longing for the sweet and inviting arms of death. This was her twilight, she was in the verge between life and death, where she wasn’t a soul or a human; soon darkness will take over her, and then, the light will approach her, and take her to a place where there was no pain, and no feelings. No love.

    Was she ready to give up her humanity, to give up on living?

    Somewhere in the darkness, gentle arms grabbed her, and a sweet, familiar voice recited sweet poems in her ear. She knew who that person was, and deep inside her, she knew she was dead. And for the first time, she wasn’t scared of it.

    Matt, you came.