A little girl runs a stick through a rib cage on the ground. The other bones are missing. A structure that was once designed to protect vital human organs is reduced to a play thing. That is death. Hearing the echoing sound waves of a child's action through out the whole night. That is knowing my mortality.

(That might sound dramatic, but today I bit my tongue. Later on, having forgotten about my injury, I noticed the dull throbbing on the left side of my palette and believed I was having a fatal allergic reaction to a food I consumed earlier in my day.)