I don't own The Fault in Our Stars or any of the characters. Reviews are wanted, along with constructive critique.

Okay

I'm finding it impossible to keep my eyes open and the last thing I see before the darkness is my parents. My mother clings to my father, her face buried in his chest, his arms surrounding her.

I am Hazel Grace Lancaster, 18 years old, and I am finally dying.

This was a long time coming I suppose but it still feels like a shot out of the dark, an attack from nowhere. I don't know what to do, what to think. Do I feel upset, like the world has betrayed me and I have been given the short stick? Should I be happy, blissed out and unafraid of the world beyond this one?

I have thought more and more of what lies beyond and I find myself thinking back to Augustus. Did he find something other than the oblivion he so desperately feared?

Augustus. I smile at the thought of the handsome, philosophical, intelligent, beautiful man I fell in love with. Who I still loved so much. I had dated after he died, but none of them had the spark that I was so fond of in him. Will I see him again? I hope so. I really do. I know its extreme and romantic and so, so illogical but I think we, as a pair or separate stories, will live on. In a way, we will avoid the oblivion.

At least for a little while.

I think of Amsterdam and Peter Van Houten. I think of his harsh words and wonderful story. The story that gave me something to connect to, a world to be familiar with. I think of Isaac, who I still talk to. I think of the passed on Caroline Mathers and how her love affected Gus. I think of my parents and I wonder how they will go on.

I try to give a last smile to calm my mother and father, who will be alone in their house that is too big for just two. I know the emptiness of it will be a constant reminder of their loss. Maybe they'll move. I know my mother always loved the idea of living in Paris. Perhaps they will move there, now or once they retire. Dramatic, but what is holding them back now?

I am okay. I always have been. This is the life I was dealt and, in the end, it was worth it.

I wonder what the funeral will be like. Will the people cry and weep for the loss of a young potential or will they find comfort in the life I lived?

My breathing has become to slow, to shallow. My pulse has all but stopped. This is it.

I can see the darkness, at the edges of my eyes. It is darker than the black of my eyelids. It is the end. It is too final to be sleep. I can see death. My death.

I feel it wash over; wrap its cold hands around my body, my soul, my mind. I feel weightless and too heavy all at once. My body is numb but I can feel a buzzing, my whole being is humming. I feel everything, and nothing at all.

I died the way you fall asleep. Slowly, and then-