Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 47

" - I had imagined dying this way a hundred times. It’s not that I wanted to, believe me. It was just that I always knew it was a possibility. Drugs always come with a price, right? Sure, you allow yourself to drown your sorrows, leave consciousness and go somewhere else; anywhere else. The cost was risk, the reward, freedom. - " Excellent opener!

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 47

" - There were no longer words in reach anymore. But everyone knows how to scream. - " Excellent writing!

Please login or signup to add a comment to this paragraph.


Add comment   Close
Arien Mills Arien Mills
Recommendations: 2

When I Died


Share this writing


Link to this writing



Start Writing

More from Arien Mills

A Pointless Strife
Together Forever
It's None of Their Business
The 11 Year Old Man
I'll See You Soon

More Short Stories

Rebekah King Rebekah King
Recommendations: 21
Darkness
Jason Dookeran Jason Dookeran
Recommendations: 12
Nell
Elizabeth Tan Elizabeth Tan
Recommendations: 29
I Cannot Resist
Stephen Stribbell Stephen Stribbell
Recommendations: 10
Four Fundamentals of Making Acquaintances
Kaitlyne Beaudin Kaitlyne Beaudin
Recommendations: 25
She had a friend.

This is a fictional piece, and though I have never died, I have felt these effects, however. I actually AM diabetic, and low blood sugar is something I literally would wish on no one, not even my worst enemy.


      I had imagined dying this way a hundred times. It’s not that I wanted to, believe me. It was just that I always knew it was a possibility. Drugs always come with a price, right? Sure, you allow yourself to drown your sorrows, leave consciousness and go somewhere else; anywhere else. The cost was risk, the reward, freedom. 1 comment


       There is something interesting about my special drug of choice, though. It’s not heroine, not meth. It’s not cocaine, or really anything else obvious. I probably shouldn’t tell you, considering it killed me, but what the heck.


       My sister is a diabetic; my grandmother too. The thing is, I’ve seen what happens when their blood sugar goes low, and though they don’t seem to like it, I love it. Your body begins to drop, in both energy and ability to process. This includes thinking. I hate thinking, because it means remembering. Your very limbs begin to sink towards the floor, and then keep sinking until they’re melted on the ground beside you; your skin tingles and prickles, almost like goose-bumps, but in a good way. You go numb. The energy you once had evaporates, and even blinking is a chore; making sound, is a chore. Moving is nearly impossible! You know you’re on the edge of unconsciousness when your ears begin to buzz and ring, and when your hands shake, your skin sweats, and your head jerks uncontrollably. You’re on the verge of a seizure. Then, with the last ounce of strength you have left, you stab your leg with instant sugar, and then wait as the high wears off, replaced with rumbling hunger and fatigue. You just sleep it off, like it never happened.


       That’s what I was doing the night I died. Another fight had occurred, another body had been slammed into the wall. Whatever; I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted to disappear. My sister knew I was always taking her medicine, but she didn’t say anything. Why? Because she was doing it too.


       I grabbed my syringe; with the small orange cap and the inch-long needle, so thin you could hardly see it. They make it that way, you know. For comfort, of all things! Anyway, I grabbed the insulin from the fridge, the clear, clouded bottle, the beautiful red top with rubber in the middle. I filled my syringe, watching the stream of glee flow through the thin tube; watched the amount hit exactly 30 milligrams. It was more than I usually did; way more. But today had been a hard one, and I needed a little help.


       I removed the silver tip of the needle, set the insulin aside, and lay down in my bed. I lifted my shirt, and pinched my stomach to draw out some fat. It hurt less that way, and that was how my sister did it. I pushed the needle through the outer layer and felt it find home. I pressed the end of the syringe with my pointer finger, and felt the burn. I counted to five, and then removed. The burn spread through my whole stomach, as if I could feel this medicine making its way through my body, and then it was gone.
I dropped the syringe on the ground beside my bed, and lay back. I closed my eyes, and waited. It happened slowly; maybe 10 minutes before I began to feel the effects. My eyes began to cloud, my brain ceased spinning and forming thought. My hands, slightly and then with more strength, began to shake uncontrollably until they were like water being disturbed by an earthquake. Suddenly, a realization hit me; I’d forgotten to get the liquid sugar, and now it was too late.


       Usually, I set another syringe filled with instant, liquid sugar, like the kind real diabetics used. But I was so intent on getting that high that I had completely forgotten, and now the drug had taken its toll, and there was no way I could rise to get it now. I knew I had to try, but my legs and arms had gone numb. I had lost all control of my body, like I was paralyzed. The prickling was intense, and the lack of feeling was increasing until it covered my whole body. I began to shake all over, not just my fingers, but my head too. The jerking became constant, and my mouth began to foam. With the last, final bit of strength left, I screamed. Of course, it was actually more of a gurgle considering I began to choke on my own saliva just then. I couldn’t remember the word help. There were no longer words in reach anymore. But everyone knows how to scream. 1 comment


       I guess I went into a coma about that time, and my heart stopped. I only remember one thing from when I died. I remember white and warmth. Someone was holding my hand, not here, but there, in the white. Someone was speaking to me kind words and holding me in their arms while I cried. Who, I can’t really know for sure. I just remember the feeling of that hug, that feeling of love that I’ve not been able to feel before, or since. I remember not wanting to leave; not wanting to come back to this world. They told me I couldn’t stay, but I wanted to more than anything. But I woke up in the hospital a day later, head spinning, and heart still beating.


       Sure, I’d imagined dying before. You always do when you play with drugs; play with fire and expect no burn. Now that I have, it’ll be different. They’ll be different, I’ll be different, and someday, I’ll feel that love again. Not by my family; not by my friends. But someone else, who will hold me in their arms while I cry, and never let go, just like He did, when I died.


Link to this writing

Share this writing


Next: No Kissing Allowed