Dusk **UNDER CONSTRUCTION**

Prologue

Death.

Romanticised by the likes of William Shakespeare. We are told that death is peaceful, but what about those there to witness it? What about those left behind?

Death is not beautiful and it's certainly not peaceful for those of us left behind. Death is watching that distinguishing spark fade from someone's eyes as they turn glassy and clutching on for dear life to their rapidly cooling hand. Death is watching their skin pale and feeling it stiffen as you're ripped away from their body. It's watching helplessly from the sidelines as paramedics try to force your loved one back into the land of the living. Death is feeling that small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe they'll pull through, and maybe you'll be enough for them to come back. But they never do.

Death is days of denial. Days of 'this isn't real, this is a dream, they'll walk through that door any minute. This is all some sick prank!' Then they never do. It's the memories left behind, it's turning to tell them something only to remember that no, they're not here and they never will be again and it sucks because you have so much to say. It's the arguments and the tears while trying to plan their funeral because everyone thinks they know better.

It's useless cries of "I just want them back!" Death is being haunted by their voice and seeing them in their dreams and wanting to believe that their there, only to be disappointed again and again when they're not. It's everyone asking if you're okay and asking if you want to talk about it.

Death is seeing them at their funeral, pale, lifeless and cold. It's looking at their face and just bursting into tears. It's expecting them to suddenly jump up and complain about how sombre everyone is being because it's just so them and crying harder when they don't because it's confirming that this is real. Death is the realisation that this is the last time you will ever see them.

They're never coming back.