She knew she was drowning. She knew this as surely as she felt the cold black waters dragging her to the bottom. She struggled to break free of the watery grasp. She kicked with all her might. She broke the surface for a brief moment, her fingers singing as they felt the cool night air, before the water drug her back down. She struggled. Struggled to breathe, to swim up, to find the oxygen that her lungs were begging for. Screaming for.
It was no use.
Her mind tried to retreat within itself. Unwilling to accept the inevitable. It urged her to kick harder. To reach further. Her limbs, heavy with the burden of saving her life, began to falter and surrender. Surrender to the darkened waters.
She was dying.
She began to accept the idea of her life ending and patiently waited for the still life photos of her life to flash before her eyes as she slowly sank to the bottom of the cold black abyss.
But, the flashes never came. She saw nothing of her life. Nothing of the family, friends, enemies, past loves, or any events that helped shaped the person she'd become. And as her chest began to burn from lack of air, she started to doubt her existence. What did it all mean? Where were the memories that were supposed to accompany her to death's door?
What was a life if the mere recipient of said life could not even muster up a memory to calm her as she waited to die? Had she not loved? Why could she not summon forth images of her parents or friends? Where were the warm feelings that others, when knocking on death's door, had spoken of? Those people with their near death experiences had all said their life had flashed before their eyes. Like photographs in a projector. Why was this not happening to her?
As she slowly began to die, she questioned whether or not she had ever truly lived.