To whoever finds this, I leave you my dying note.
By the time you read this, I'll be dead. You may be thinking how I know. After all, death is spontaneous. One minute you're among the living and the next you're in a cold, dark grave.
Your mind and body lost to the world. All traces erased, the last moment others have of you being either an old, wrinkled shadow or an ill, weak figure. But I don't want that to be my last phase.
You see, I'm ill. As in terminally. There's no hope for me. I'm dying.
In fact, we are all dying from the moment we enter this world, kicking and mewling like a kitten. As soon as we're born, the hourglass is turned, the sands fall swift and God marks our name off his list as our souls enter our body. There's no hope for me.
Don't think this is me rambling on, fearing death. In fact, I welcome it. Come and get me, Grim Reaper. My arms are flung open and my heartbeat is steady. Slip your mask upon my face and take me within your cloak.
I want a choice, though. I want to choose how to die. When I die and where I die. I suffer, day in, day out. My body decreases and my bones grow frail.
I am a skeleton, both mentally and physically. I couldn't even write this letter, one of the kind nurses in the hospice is penning it for me as we speak. She's looking at me with the smallest of smiles on her face. Thank you, dear. She smiles again.
As I was saying, I loved to write. The words would enter my head faster than my pen could get it down. Images and stories would form and I wouldn't rest until I would breathe into them my spirit. Now I can barely hold a pen.
I want to choose where I will die. Surrounded by my friends and family, not nurses and doctors who look on anxiously as I take my dying breath. Sorry once again, dear. I didn't mean it that way.
I meant that I want my favorite music to be played, want the smiles of my loved ones to be the last thing I fondly gaze upon as I close my eyes for the last time. I want a choice.
Never can a door be closed. Opportunities await everyone. You just have to seize them, grasp them with two hands and refuse to let go. Only then will you have a choice. Only then will you be happy.
I'm sorry for this rambling letter. Though, let this be my mark on the world, let this be my legacy. I will soon be dead and frankly, I couldn't be happier.
I'm sorry for this rambling letter. Though, let this be my mark on the world, let this be my legacy. I will soon be dead and frankly, I couldn't be happier. From a happy, dying man.
... In school, we touched upon the topic of euthanasia and that inspired me to write this piece. I know that there are a lot of conflicting views, so please be respectful to other people in the comments.
I'm not necessarily saying that this is my view- it's just an artistic expression. Please do not be offended also.
Thanks for reading and please leave a comment. That's Iqra... OUT.