My head hurts. I can't feel my legs and my head feels like it�s screaming. What's going on? Why am I here? There's something running down my face and people keep talking to me but I can't hear them. I don't understand what's going on.
The world rushes back into my ears and it's all so loud and clear that it hurts. I can't move anything. I'm scared. I feel so helpless. Why can't I move? Why does it hurt so much? What's happening to me?
The room goes dark. I can't see a thing. I don't understand. It comes back into focus and there's a girl who looks just like me lying on the bed. She's so pale. The doctor moves and I can't see her any more. "Time of death, 2:36 am." He walks out of the room and the nurses wheel her away, her face covered with a stark white sheet.
I still don't understand. Did that girl die? She looked just like me. I feel so strange. Everything hurt before but now I feel nothing. I get up and look in the mirror next to the bed but it's blank. I'm standing right in front of it. Where did my reflection go? Was that me in the bed? Did I just die?
"Dying seems less sad than having lived to little" - Gloria Steinham
The school filed slowly into the gym. There was a group outside, all of them crying and the others watched them curiously as they passed. Everyone sat on the floor and waited.
The headmaster stood in front of them, a grim look on his face. "As some of you already know, Orla Fitzgerald, a student at this school, passed away in hospital early Saturday morning. This is a very sad time for everyone who knew Orla, so we are asking you to be especially considerate of others. If any one feels unable to continue classes they may sign out at the front office or speak to one of the school counselors."
"Dust thou art and unto dust thou shalt return" - Genisis 3:19
I died at 2:36 am on Saturday the 18th of November. Today is my funeral. I feel as though I'm floating.
They're holding my funeral at the church where I was baptized when I was three months old. I haven't been there since. I don't understand why my parents are holding it there. I was never religious. None of them ever knew a religious me. Why are they trying to pretend there ever was one?
The church is full and there are people outside. Are they all here to say good-bye to me? I guess more people liked me than I ever thought. Here I am, all alone. My little brother is crying. Everyone is so unhappy. They're all crying. I can't see anyone who isn't. Even Jessie and I thought she hated me. I don't want anyone to be sad. My whole life was dedicated to living.
They're all going to the cemetery. I stay by the church and watch them put my coffin into the car and drive away. It was hard enough having to watch myself die. I don't know if I want to watch myself get buried. I don�t know if I can. It's so final. I used to think I was immortal. Now I don't know what I am.
"Our life is made up of the death of others" - Leonardo Da Vinci
20th of November, Monday afternoon
Today the Principal announced to the whole school that Orla Fitzgerald died on Saturday morning. She was hit by a car on the way home from Aimee's party. I saw her there that night. It's so weird. One minute she was perfectly healthy. Next minute she's dead.
Aimee came up to me after the assembly and asked me why I hated Orla so much. I told her, but as soon as the words came out of my mouth I felt stupid. They were the worst reasons to hate someone. Aimee told me why she cried all the time. Her friend Monique was dying. I didn't know. I could have asked. Instead I just went ahead and judged her.
I came home and cried until I ran out of tears. It's not fair. She was only sixteen.
- - Jessie
"Fear not death, for the sooner we die, the longer we shall be immortal" - Kahlil Gibran
17th of November, Friday afternoon
Monique has a kidney disease and she's dying. She's only fifteen. Not fair is it? I got an email from her a few days ago. She told me that she's not scared anymore. Of dying I mean. She realized that she could just rest, forever and ever and not have to make another appointment at the hospital, or miss out on yet another party or see her mother cry.
I cried when I read that. Monique is one of my best friends. I've known her since the day she was born. I don't want her to die. It's bad enough that I never see her anymore. She had to move to Sydney to be closer to the hospital and she hardly ever gets to come home to visit. She's always too sick.
I'm lucky. Monique helped me see that. The doctors told her that she'd die before she was sixteen. I have a whole life to live.
-- Orla
"To be or not to be, that is the question" - William Shakespeare's Hamlet
My name is Orla Jade Fitzgerald. I died one year ago, on Saturday the 18th of November at 2.36am. Death is unlike anything I could ever imagine. There is no heaven or hell, no eternal fire, no Pearly Gates. Re-incarnation is a myth, a legend, a fairy tale. I am not an angel. I have not become someone else. I have not begun a new life. I am nothing.
Like most teenagers I thought I was indestructible. Teenagers don't die. They go to parties. Grow up. Get a job. Marry. Retire. I used to think I was immortal. Now I know I am.
Monique was the bravest person I ever met. The only thing she was ever afraid of was not living enough Every time I saw her I would cry but she would just wipe away my tears and tell me to "be her sunshine." She died three months after I did. Just faded away. Every day I beg and plead and hope and pray that she isn't like this. That she has something better.
Sixteen years of precious, wonderful, beautiful life. Gone. I never thought I had to do anything special. Not then. I was stupid enough to believe that life lasts. It doesn't.
If you had once chance, what would you wish for? Money? Fame? World peace? I would wish for life. I would wish that I was still Orla Jade Fitzgerald and this was all a dream. I haven't been happy since the car drove around the corner on the 18th of November 2002 at 1:28 am and a little more than an hour later; my door on life was closed forever.
My name is Orla Jade Fitzgerald. I died one year ago, on the 18th of November in hospital; alone; because of a car accident that happened on the corner of a street I walked down everyday. I never graduated, or got married, never had children, went to university, retired. I never did anything special, or memorable. I wasn't an unforgettable. Memories of me just faded and died.
Heaven?
I wish.