At the border gate, Death on the other side, and me, in no-man's-land. It seems harder to catch my breath; it slips out easily and comes back in with a painful effort. It is life isn't it? Easily lost to waste, and with difficulty brought back to order. Well, that is me before it ended.
I lie there in a pool of my own substance, thick and fluid at the same time, like custard powder, like lead. The deep colour clings to my clothes and makes me feel sticky and dirty. I shouldn't touch it, I know better than that! I knew better when I was younger, but now that I am grown this thing called purpose possesses me and I live for it, and now die for it, if indeed I die. It's the fault of this adult thing that I lie in my own... I can't stand that word, not when it is outside the body. I lie in my own deep colour. I can't tell if it's maroon or black, it is ugly. If you have seen things in this life you will know what I mean.
The shooting continues from a distance and I am not afraid. I lie there like a hero, seeming to give up but determined to live. And living becomes harder as I take each excruciating breath. The blood, oh how I shiver at the thought, it oozes out of a hole in my stomach, and more in my eye. The pain is not unbearable, it is beyond that, it is now necessary; the less I feel pain, the more I am certain that I am slipping away. And I cannot, not just yet.
I take a deep breath occasionally to force that life inside me, to feel pain and be hopeful. And now it slips out mockingly, all I feel is cold and hot at the same time. Such a strange thing it is to die, to see your mind becoming nearly blank, and your emotions almost irrelevant. To see everything slip away into nothingness.
I hear voices over me, they seem happy with the battle, they are going to win and fulfill purpose. And my husband stands there smiling, and I want to be there for him but now I am tempted to release all and follow the peace and quiet. He needs me at that point more than I him. I take that deep breath, like gulping down pain, and try to hold it in. More pain. I release and repeat with shorter intervals until I gain the courage to turn my head slightly.
"She just moved!"
That's my husband with a panic in his voice.
But, I thought I saw him smile. Now he moves around frantically not knowing what to touch and what to leave alone. Now he begins to pray in the spirit but it's as though he is saying to me, "Wake up, you are not dead. Receive the strength of the Lord Jesus, receive it now! Get up young woman, the battle is not over yet, you are needed on the battlefield."
That's what I hear, so I try to smile. I know I have to endure the pain, it is not yet time to slip away to the other side. So instead I wake up, I uncover my head from the deprived blanket, and open my eyes to see my husband standing over me.
"Wake up Ms T" He says with a smile.
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