Today was the day you were predicted to die from you illness. You were laying on the bed weak, unable to speak or move.

However, Thomas, your boyfriend of four years, walked into the room and locked the door with a gun in his hand, “I wrote your name on this bullet. Now the last thing that goes through my mind is you.”

You wanted to stop him, but couldn’t, and then after you had passed Thomas raised the gun to his head and shot himself.