Immortal

I was seventeen the first time I died. It was gentle, like the dying of a star. My heart stopped, you said, for fifteen minutes.

I died a thousand times between then and now. I died again at nineteen and twenty-two and thirty-seven and a hundred and three; I died in war and in bed, with valor and in obscurity, alone and in your arms. All I remember is the dark and the shape of my name, how it fluttered against the wind: a kite tugging on a string.

Next time, I think, next time I will bring a knife.


13 thoughts on “Immortal

  1. Laissez Faire says:

    This is one of those pieces worth multiple reads. Such a great line: died in war and in bed, with valor and in obscurity. At first I thought it was all literal death, but then could see it could be figurative for the events that kill something inside.

    Like

    • Christine says:

      Thank you! This came out of a bigger side project where I’d been writing about an immortal character. I’m curious – how did you read the last line? I know what I intended, but… 🙂

      Like

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