When I was old enough to understand that death was something inevitable, I had always hoped that it would rain the day I left this earth forever. I thought that if it rained the day I died, then all of the not so pleasant things I'd leave behind would be washed away along with the memory of myself.

I could feel cool droplets of water gently hitting my face as my crumpled, broken body lay in the middle of the street.

I never thought I'd meet my end this way, and especially at barely 17 years old. I couldn't find it in myself to regret anything that had happened, though. All the pain, all the tears, all the heartbreak, had been completely worth it.

The last thing I remembered before everything went black was thinking that if I had to die so young, then at least it was in the place of someone I loved.

This was it.

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Fear not. This is not the end yet.