Nine thoughts before I die.

                When I died, a lot of stuff showed up in my mind.

                The first was, obviously, pain. Pain from the nine bullets in my body, that I got jumping in front of my commander to save him. There was nothing else but pain in that moment, the sound of the voices and shots all around me, the desperate face of my companions trying to make me stop bleeding, the warm blood coming out of the holes on me, nothing was important as the pain inside me.

                I knew that I was going to die, and my second thought was only regret. Everything that I made and I did not like it, everything I did not made and I wanted to do it. All decisions in my life that I thought wrong and I have could done better, all those things showed in my mind in order and I felt bad about it. But then I looked back and saw the road of my life, it was a straight line and all the decisions that I made or did not made were in the past, there was no way to knew what would happen if I had choose something different.

                Before I continue, I need to say that there was no bright light or calm voice calling me to heaven, as there was no devil’s voice condemning to the hell. I probably deserved the emptiness by my life that this was what happened, and I could tell you for sure if I was still alive how it is the Nothing.

                After regret, it was time to remember my family and friends. They were a small part on those thoughts, I know, but an important part. The moments of joy, the moments of sadness, all those together while everything was fading. At the point I had hope, because I would live in their memories and lives forever, so who could say that I was dead?

                The brief moment of happiness made me think about the achievements I got in my life.  For a moment I had the impression that I had not achieved too much, but at some point I realized that even the small victories were important and helped me in my life, even the regrets I had were small compared in how much I got,  how much I made, the good things I left behind.

                The emptiness came again and I was feeling light, maybe because all my blood was going to the floor … I had no right to judge if this death was deserved or not, no right to consider myself a hero, because I knew that in the other side of the battlefield I was a villain. I was in the edge, and the death was impartial.

                At that moment, everything I had had in the world was already gone, and the only things left were the emotions. They were all there, you can list and the answer would be away yes. Love was there, hate was there, happiness was there, sadness was there, fear, pride, rage, calmness, serenity, everything was there in large amounts. Since the most part of my memories were gone there was no beginning for all those emotions, was pure and natural, eternal. It was also my fifth thought.

                Nothing was left, except scars. Not literally scars, physical scars but scars in my mind. There were four of those, and they changed me more than anything else.

                The first one was some years before my death. I was driving through a long bridge close to a not very deep river, and close enough to the water to let you put your feet in the water if you sit in the edge and is tall enough. Someone told me that the river use to go much bellow the amount it was then, almost 10 feet down, but the dam made it rise. The important thing is that I was driving on the bridge, and looking at the water, I saw a dog. In the dark, I could not see his color or his size, but I had heard his screams and savage begging for mercy, but instead of stop the car and help him I just left the fast as I could. I do not know what scared me in that night, I do not know why I did not saved the dog. But I know that I had left him to die, and whatever he saw on his death was probably worse than anything I had seeing until that moment. I also learned that the real monsters are those you have inside yourself, and the small things you give them just make them grow faster.

                The second scar was a soft one, in my past, deeper but happy. It was my 8 years old birthday, when all my family showed together. It was in the park, when the summer was a hot one, with birds singing in the trees, the grass shining like emerald, the water was crystalline as sapphire, and the sunlight was golden and bright. I remember more of the smiles on the happy faces, and gifts, and plays, and hugs and the loop of happiness in my head going over and over all they long and for many days after. It was one of my best memories, and it was before my family fall apart.

                The third memory, the eight thought, was about a tree that I had in my garden. It was small and in the spring had some blue flowers. I got it from my friend many years before my death, some months before his death, and I planted in my garden. He was a friend who had terminal cancer and gave everyone a tree to grow in their gardens to keep and raise, to maintain the friendship even after his death. I regret for not doing the same before my trip, but it was an empty feeling because I had nothing left of feelings. His tree would be there for many years more and maybe somewhere I had done the same thing with someone. But would them talk to me as an object as I use to talk with my friend as a tree? Did he listened to me while I was talking with me?

It was almost time to know, there was only one memory left.

             Maybe the most deep and large scar.

                She was in a red dress and had a black, really dark, hair – as the wings of a raven in the night. I do not knew her name and I still do not know, but it is a little late for this. The important was her image in my head, the big contrast: the blood red dress floating through the streets with the wind and the black hair moving and waving, waving and dancing, dancing and inviting me to follow her through the streets – as her smile directed to me and one or two blinks. And this was only because I have seeing her only by her back and barely seeing her face.

 Then she turned and looked directly at me and I saw her eyes and her lips, and her nose and her ears, and her eyebrows and cheeks, and her face made me lost myself on a way that had never happened before. We did not said a word – or this is how I remember – and was not enough because we had enough words through or eyes and smiles. Her eyes, by the way, had much more than just passion and words, it had the wisdom of a thousand years and the innocence of the newborn, the light of all stars and the infinite of the universe, everything was there and the color was the less important. It looked like she had control over my universe and reality, but when she touched my lips all my universe and reality, my life, goals, hopes, dreams, everything was resume to that point which connected us. It could had last a thousand years or it could had last a millionths parts of a second. It does not matter, it ended up and she left, she was in my memory from that moment until that day – the day when I died – but I do not know if I was in her memory after that.

One moment and she made my whole life worth. My death was not bad at all at the end, was a honest one, and I died happy thinking about love.