I never meant to be good; or maybe it's more of I never intended to be good enough.

I didn't spend my life consciously telling myself to do the right thing, to be the better person, to help people; I never once tried to be good.

No, I saved that for my death.

As far as deaths go, it was an okay one. I mean, I've met quite a few colleagues that have had better ones, but mine makes me feel as if I somehow justified the "never once tried to be good" with my death.

It wasn't murder, which would have been interesting, or sickness, which wouldn't. I didn't commit suicide—that would take an involvement in life that I never possessed.

It was purely accidental.

I think it helped me become who I am—I wouldn't be here if I hadn't died as I had. My death probably contradicts my statements on never meaning to be good. But then again, maybe not. I'm still trying to figure that one out.

It was one of those hot, sticky days in Iowa that made you wish you were a boy, if only so that you could take off your shirt and walk around without being arrested for public indecency. If I'm being honest- which, honestly, is unavoidable, now- it was one of those days that made me long to be a different person, in a different life, in a different place, if only to avoid the heat.

I always enjoy remembering this; it makes me feel like I was a better person.

I was outside, gardening, the tangy smell of the tomato plants sticking to my sweat, the sharp smell of the onion leaves I had accidentally stepped on permeating the air, the feel of the soft dirt under my bare toes- God, how I miss that.

The boy across the street, Jasper, was playing catch with his older brother, Edward.

I remember Edward. He was honey and cinnamon and brown sugar and sunshine. He made me want to look good in daisy-dukes.

"Go long, Jasper!"

I had taken a break, and my back was thanking me. I watched them interact, enjoying the easy, familiar way they threw the ball.

Jasper ran, farther, farther, to the edge of the yard, standing on the curb. The street was an invisible wall.

The football arced through the air, going straight through his outstretched fingers and hopped away, into the middle of the street.

I had been moving closer, without realizing it, invading the brothers' moment. I wanted to experience that bond- or maybe I wanted to be closer to Edward. I can't pretend to understand the thoughts that motivated my feet to shuffle closer to the edge of my side of the street.

A truck rolled into view. Big, banana yellow.

When I got here, I learned that the driver had just been told that his wife wanted a divorce…by his wife's lawyer. He was sobbing into the wheel of that big, banana yellow truck when he almost ran into that little boy chasing a football into the street.

He was sobbing when he killed me.

When the ambulance came, I was already here. It was long past my time. Jasper had a sprained ankle, from being pushed out of the way of a truck.

The last thing I heard as a mortal was Edward sobbing my name.

A/N:

Disclaimer- no claiming being done : )

Is it worth it?