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.
Christine Hanolsy 
i’m struggling the same… =(
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Great text! To see life more clearly, it is important to die from time to time.
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That was so cool! That could be the first paragraph of a book – I would totally read more of that story!
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Thanks so much, Cheney!
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This is powerful stuff. Your words resonate deeply. I got chills with the last line.
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Thank you so much! It went in a bit of a different direction than I intended. 🙂
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All I remember is the dark and the shape of my name ❤
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Confession: that was my favorite line.
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It’s a good fiction…Loved the last line
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Thank you! I wavered a lot on that last line, so I’m glad it worked for you.
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My pleasure 😊
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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.
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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… 🙂
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