Perhaps, when I draw my last breath, it will be alone, as I lie in a hospital bed, swathed in sheets as the tv glares in the dark, muted.
Perhaps, I will die with fright and despair embedded in me, as the car in which I sit, plummets into a tree; and the windscreen smashes, and I am lost forever.
Or, perhaps, I will die, without even knowing I have left. I could close my eyes to go to sleep, and never wake up again.
And all these, I thought of, as I shot up from the bed, shattering coughs, laboured breaths, as spasms of pain raked across my chest.
I cannot say that I do not fear Death. I'm a wuss, and I get frightened by lots of things, and above all things, Death. I'm afraid I will never watch Renee grow up, never graduate from university, never see my parents blossom as peaceful old age starts to catch up on them.
I'm afraid my life may be snatched away from my very fingers, before I can find my place in the world.
No words can describe the overwhelming fear I felt that night. Frightened thoughts, that I would close my eyes and never wake up; not even realising I was dead. Thoughts of how they would find my corpse the next day, how life would go on without me, how people would forget they ever had a sister, a friend, a daughter.
With this fear grasping my mind, I cried myself to the dark abyss of dreamland.
I woke up the next day, with amber sunlight streaming through windows, cool, morning air caressing clammy fingers.
And I got up, brushed my teeth and went to eat my breakfast.