Risen

by cthrnwrites

My name is Isabella Swan. My fate was to die, as of a human death. While this was in fact achieved, my fate did not stop at my death. I, instead, lived.

In a minute there is time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. ~T.S. Eliot

How would you describe possessing a new life? Would it include a wonderful childhood, decent education, lovely marriage and put together family? How far can one go as to adequately define such a broad and complicated idea? This multifaceted idealism is merely the dream rather than the achievable.

So why should I even question whether I have had a good life? How can I say that? While I'm sitting here, facing death in the face, I honestly cannot fathom the allotted memories to satisfy it. Pretty pitiful isn't it? I haven't really actually lived long enough to make anything for myself, let alone warrant my half-life as interesting. It has been far from it.

So, what can I be thankful for now that my life is about to end? What do I have that I can say 'Oh, it's alright, I have done this, and seen that.'

I have so much to fear, yet so little to face.

There is nothing I've accomplished to give me such gratification.

My name is Isabella Swan, and I am nobody. I will not be missed, nor remembered. My existence has already been forgotten. I had nothing before; no family, no friends, not one thing left behind to hint my reality.

They made sure of that.

Did my pitiful aloneness make my death less significant and more meaningful at the exact same time? Is that why they chose me? I don't know.

All I did know, was that time was not my friend and I'd be dead soon.