Death

She woke up in the middle of her room, staring at the plain and empty ceiling. What the hell had happened? Slowly coming back into her senses, she remembered. Saw his eyes, felt his hands, heard him whisper. Did he succeed? Is she already dead? Has she ever been alive? Is she just asleep?
The ceiling started swirling around; she felt her stomach coming out. And then she realized. It was not a dream. And she was not asleep. All of it was true. Life was really ending, long before it even started. It was black and scary, all of it… too dark, too heavy, too impossible to bear. And it wasn’t him that killed her. He was there to help. It was her, she took the knife, fell down, sat on the floor and started cutting. First slowly, superficial wounds, then fast, angry, deep into her soul she cut a hole. She tried to move and felt the wet ground soaking in her skin. It was her hand, her blood, her own damn apartment, that was flooding in the red darkness of her mind.
The room started getting darker, the world stopped spinning, the air stopped moving. She was freezing.
No, there was not a movie with her life, and there was not a tunnel with a light. There was just darkness all around, deep inside. It was just the end, no heaven, no hell, just timeless space with no dimensions, filled with emptiness and silence.
But she knew, somewhere else, another world, another time, she was being born.