Before You Let Go
Because if Death came, maybe it meant I was already too close to his side of things.
Ruin stepped back, hands in his pockets. “Goodbye, Lyra Villanueva.”
The silence cracked.
Sound rushed back all at once.
Screams.
Car horns.
Footsteps pounding toward me.
Someone shouted for an ambulance.
Someone else kept saying, “Oh my God, oh my God,” over and over.
The pain arrived then.
All of it.
Sharp. Heavy. Everywhere.
I tried to hold on, but the world was slipping.
The gray sky blurred.