All Of Us Are Dead
The man’s voice kept talking… something about calling an ambulance, but his words sounded far away, muffled, like they were underwater.
I could smell asphalt. I could taste blood.
And through it all, one thought pushed its way through the chaos — not Daniel, not anger, not pain. Just this dull, almost detached realization:
So this is how I die.
God, what a pitiful way to go.