When my time came it was sudden but absolute. To my surprise the out of body experience was real and I watched them pull my twisted corpse from the wreckage. I felt nothing so much as a profound sense of detachment. That wasn’t me anymore, and I felt no connection to the man now lying on the ground, surrounded by paramedics with grim faces.
She didn’t look at all like you’d picture Death, that’s Death with a capital D. She wasn’t ghostly, though I watched emergency personnel walk through her and me without a single notice. She was just as real, or unreal, as I was now. There was no scythe held in a skeletal hand and I didn’t see a pale horse. Just a young woman, wearing a hooded jacket and sweatshirt with a melancholy look just underneath.
“C’mon,” she said, turning, “I’m here to give you a lift.” She walked over to a white sedan and opened the driver’s door.
“Where are we going?” I asked, not quite sure I wanted to hear the answer.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m new at this, actually.” She looked off toward the west, where we could see an orange glow over what must have been Baseline and Vale. Turning back to me, she said “I live in number 216, or at least I did until about an hour ago.”
I looked back and saw the EMTs cover me with a blue tarp, one was on a cell phone. Then I walked over to her sedan and got in.