Butterswap

25

I think it is in the middle of the night, or maybe it isn't. Maybe it is 3 am, or maybe it is 5am. Or maybe it is already the afternoon, all the lines of time blurring together like a mess of colours colliding together.

I remember saying I want to nap for a little while, I remember getting into bed. I remember pulling the sheets over myself.

And then suddenly, there is a lot of pain, everywhere. From the tip of my toes to the top of my head. I cannot shout for help and I cannot breathe. I keep holding my heart, desperate to reach into my rib cage to tear the disastrous organ out.

I thrash in my bed, hoping the commotion in the room is enough for my family to notice. No, they don't. At least not for a few hours, or maybe it is just a few minutes.

I topple the bedside lamp over and it falls with a loud, shrill noise. Glass falling to a thousand and one pieces. My heart breaks then too.

Because before I slip unconscious, I vaguely register the odd noise an ambulance makes. I vaguely register the panicked voices that surrounds me. I vaguely register someone shouting my name over and over again.

I vaguely register that there isn't going to be a tomorrow.

I vaguely register that I will never see my family again.

I vaguely register that I will never see Keenan Drew ever again.