From now until an indefinite forever, I am Patient0029. Lying here in this excuse of a bed, I know it's the end. This is what death tastes like; cold hard mechanical lifelines and falsely cheerful caretakers. I can feel it in the air; the oxygen supply is expiring at a constant speed, in tune with the chirps of my heartbeat. Bittersweet feelings swathe me and I feel smothered in a state of illusion. This would be the time to reflect back on my life, I think to myself. So I try to do this, with as much meaning as I can.

I haul myself back to my earliest memories; I see a red wagon, I see two little blonde girls, I see Barbie dolls strewn across a sea green carpet. I see a playground, a kickball field, a closet reserved solely for playing dress-up. An ice cream truck is jauntily playing "Pop Goes the Weasel" in the distance. It is almost instinct to call for my mom and beg her for a dollar so I can buy myself a Screwball. I see my elementary school lunch-room; a block away, I see the television on at home displaying an episode of The Rugrats with the volume turned up unnecessarily high. It is all one big pleasant memory that I wish to stay in, but like all blissful instances, I must place it behind me for now.

My state of incredulity continues as I travel to my teenage years. My first slow dance, my first boyfriend, my first kiss, my first real love, my first car, my first job; I have to stop and smile as I think about those years, the years where I believed I was invincible. Heartbreak was probable; death and pain were impossible. Not me, not now. It's funny how abruptly things can change.

I am only nineteen years old. I am dying of a heart failure due to an overdose of ecstasy. I am not a drug addict. I just wanted to have some fun. My body's lease is nearly through; it will be up for rent again soon. It's a shame that I am one of the unlucky ones. I have to face the fact that I will not be able to grow up, marry off, have kids, and grow old with someone I love. Sure, the thought hurts; but it is my fault. When all is said and done, it is my fault; I'll admit it. Curiosity killed the cat- in my case, it went as far as to kill me.

I'm sorry Mom, I'm sorry Dad I'm sorry sis, you really were my best friend. Enjoy your teenage years; don't take them for granted. Grandma, I will be waiting for you in heaven with Grandpa. That is, if I make it to heaven.

Everything occurs for a reason; isn't that what we've always been led to believe? If this is true, why am I lying on this death throne at the sugary age of nineteen? I wonder, for that is all that I can do at this point.

My lifeline deliberates. The subtle breeze in the room caused by my shallow breathing begins to subside. My only friends in this infirmary- my hopes, my dreams, my aspirations for the future- are slowly being thrown into a bottomless barrel next to dirty disposable scrubs and face masks used by the medics who pledged to attempt a miracle. Death is slowly creeping up on me; I can feel its breath on my neck and its cape over my shoulders. I begin to slip away, I start to lose balance and swiftly I begin to fall, plummeting through a tunnel of light and radiance; all the while hearing a faint, pale undertone in the distance; "You had your chance, you had your chanceā€¦"