As I lay here dying from the plague, I wonder. How do we know when we die? Do we get a little tap on the should? Does something scurry up and tell us that we need to stop and move on? Are there lights or flowers or rages or even storms?

Death is a many sided sword with more meanings than we can think of together. The word death can be rearranged to be The Ad or Hated. Well, what if I just hated the ad that played? Is that death?

As I lay here with my foot on fire, screaming in pain, I wonder. Did my life choices bring me to this point? Was I supposed to be here or did I drag myself here by the ear? Doctors like to tell us that we are what we eat or something. But, now hear me out, what if a fairy or sprite decided to change my fate and bit my foot. Was that always meant to be or was that a course correction?

Fate, like Death, is a many sided sword. We can debate fate all day and never dig past the outer core of the meaning.

As I sit here in my chair writing this, I need you to tell me why. This isn’t nothing but a heartache to try and figure out. As I sit here in my chair, my lungs full of plague, my sinus stuffed with blackness, my foot larger than life and twice as sore, I wonder. How do we know when we die?