I died in that operating room on that cold slab of metal.
I died there in that nightmare disguised as a dream, at the center of a bustling center, and no one cared. I died with that toxic, boiling serum seeping into my veins, like the sun itself had found its new home underneath my skin. I died with the ersatz words spew from the mouths of my deceivers bouncing around inside my head.
I died. But my body, which had been so use to fighting, did what it did best. It fought. It fought that drug that threatened to tare me apart from the inside out. My heart, instead of viewing the toxin for what it really was, it embraced it as if it were the sweetest nectar. As if it was a wonder it had survived so long without it. It pumped on, my heart pumped on. So with my heart thriving, my lungs succeeding in sucking in the glass filled air and holding onto it for dear life. Misery found a new home in my muscles, my skin, my bones. I dreamed so much those days of in-and-out consciousness. The cruelest nightmares. Nightmares with the faces of those I had killed, killing me a thousand times and in a thousand different ways.
When I die I see how I've gotten to this point, and all of the thing I could have done differently. I could have listened to Leaf. I could have saw things for how they were. I could have not trusted. I could have not been such a fucking idiot. I see my sins, the moment the blade sunk into Edgar's chest, the moments I broke Sabina's neck, ripped the air mask off Bertha's face, dented Arnold's head with a flaming piece of timber, then crushed his face. April, cold, on that shower floor and the moment I slashed Hues's neck combined into a twisted Picasso. I saw Oliver being taken away in cuffs for a crime I committed tying it all up at the end.
I picture a childhood, one with harmless tournaments and bare feet, cockiness and laughter. A momma who wasn't ashamed, disappointed, disgraced by her no good, murdering daughter. A daddy who was so proud of his daughter he couldn't have a conversation with someone without bringing her up. A best friend without that serious frown I hated so much. I want that back.
You'll be extraordinary. Don't you worry, dear, the pain is only temporary when you come out of it you will be better than new. What you survive makes you stronger right?
The echo of Kevin Anderson's voice, is the last thing I heard before I died.