Fire in my chest.

I couldn't breathe.

My chest heaved, straining to draw in air, but I felt only a tearing sensation. I looked down, stared dumbly at the hilt of the sword buried in my ribs.

Buried in my heart.

I'd killed the bastard, but he'd killed me. I cut him neatly across the throat as he lunged, sure that I'd dodged his lumbering thrust.

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I was on my knees, though I don't remember falling.

Killed by a common brigand, I thought, how embarrassing.

Then I was on my back, staring at the clouded night sky. I heard someone screaming.

Was it me? No, I still couldn't draw a breath. Shouldn't I be dead already? Am I? Is this what death is?

I thought how stupid these thoughts were, and then how stupid it was to think about my final thoughts.

I tried to laugh at the absurdity.

I couldn't.

Someone was holding my head. A face drifted into view.

A crying face, ugly with grief. No, not ugly. What a terrible final thought.

"It's okay! It'll be okay! It'll be okay... it'll be okay..."

She kept repeating, as if it were a magic phrase that could change the world.

I knew her. But I couldn't think of her name. She paused her chanting to shout my name, but she sounded very far away.

Her face was hazy. Indistinct. What was her name?

I opened my mouth to ask, but it was full of blood.

And then