text: When you die, it’s not how they describe it in church or anything. It’s nothing like that. There are no white fluffy clouds or golden gates. No one comes to bring you into the afterlife. When you die, it’s much colder and darker than any of that. The night I died was one of the best nights of my life, of course all the way up until I was dying. It was late summer, the air was warm and damp; the rain clung to the air and gave it a musty smell. The cicadas were wild with song and it brought me so much peace and happiness that night. I went to the last party of the summer before senior year started; it was at a campsite in the woods by the creek. I remember I saying goodbye to my friends not knowing that would be *the* goodbye and of course, they never saw me again. I took a path that lead out of the woods to the parking lot that my car was parked at, going alone was the biggest mistake I had made. With being in the woods, one would have thought I would have heard him coming. I should have been paying attention, I should have noticed the footstep on the leaves and the way the sticks cracked and the leaves of the bushes moved. I should have felt him coming up behind me; I should have felt him watching me. Unfortunately for me, I was never very observant of my surroundings and I never had the slightest idea of what was coming. He grabbed me from behind and put one thick hand over my mouth so my screams were muffled. An arm curled around my waist and I was lifted off the ground and carried off into the darkness that the trees created. Don’t think for a second that I didn’t fight back. I did fight for my life with every ounce of energy I could muster up at that moment. It was like I knew it was life or death, I struggled and I gave him hell. Don’t think for a second I didn’t try to survive this. I hoped that he would do whatever he was going to do then he would let me go. I hoped that would be the end of the ordeal and I prayed that I could just get back to my car and get home. Of course, my hopes were dashed and my prayers went unanswered, otherwise I wouldn’t be here telling you any of this. Instead, he carried me deeper into the bowels of the woods where he took the liberty of ending my existence, like I meant nothing more than a fly on the wall and for what reason I had absolutely no idea. When we got to a remote enough area for his liking, he threw me down like a sagging bag of cheap dog food and got on top of me, his knees pinned down my arms, one hand gripped my face, the other digging around in his back pocket, and all I could do was look up at the man that was about to kill me. I tried to study his face just in case I made it out alive so that I could at least give the police a description; his dark eyes were the first detail I could make out in the moonlight that managed to slither in through the thick canopy above. They would have been eyes that I could have fallen into and gotten lost in any other time. Warm brown, like chocolate. He was young, maybe mid to late 20s, he had a strong jawline and a pointy nose. Really, he wouldn’t have been a bad looking guy had this not been the way we had met. Then all I can remember is one swift and fluid motion of his arm and a sharp pain in my throat that felt cool at first, and then became boiling hot and sticky. Everything started to look fuzzy and became darker, I felt so cold, and yet hot as the gash in my throat erupted like a soda that was shook around too much. I could feel my life spilling out all over the damp earth and myself, the puddle beneath me was growing and my strength was waning. It all happened so quickly and just as quickly everything went black. They say the last of your senses that goes when you die is your hearing. That, my friends is true. After I lost my sense of sight, my sense of touch went and I could no longer feel the sticky discomfort of my own blood splashing my face and chest. I did however, feel him tugging on my soiled hair, I could feel the same blade that tore through my throat slice through my hair, creating a trophy for him as if I was some four point buck that he'd mount over the fireplace. Soon after that I couldn’t smell the pungent metallic odor of my own blood anymore, I lost the taste of blood bubbling in my mouth, but I could hear him get up and walk away, leaving me to die alone like I was nothing more than trash. I had never related so much with a disposed, antler-less deer that you'd spy on the side of the road before that moment. I honestly never thought that I would, but no one really thinks that they'll die like this. Deers don't, even in hunting season, and neither did I. The cicadas above never once stopped singing. It happened so quick and just like that I slipped away. Being dead is a strange feeling, kind of like falling in love or driving by yourself for the very first time. It’s weirdly free, like you can do anything or go anywhere in the world that you want. No restrictions; just unbridled freedom. I won’t go into details, I don’t want to spoil the surprise for you, but I will tell you that it is much colder on the other side.