I'm dead. Really dead. Not int he " there'll be a twist int he end and ill be saved kind of way. Just dead.

Something things you just know, and I knew by the growing pool of blood that it was over. Dying doesn't t hurt like you would think. I mean, yeah, it isn't fun, but the pain from being wounded, it dissipates.

I can't talk anymore. Breathing is sort of hard, and I can't lift my hands, but I can see, and I can hear, and I can hear the squeaky little cries. I can see my sister, wiping the blood and fluid from my son's face.

She brings him to me.

"I called someone. They're coming. Hold on, okay?" She said.

But I'm not holding on. Everything is getting dark, and I feel light and airy. I'm dying. But my son is screaming with the strength of an infant tiger.

He will be fine. I summon what's left of my strength and twitch my fingers towards the baby, and my sister lays him on my chest, away from the rising tide of blood. He twists his tiny fingers in my hair and quiets.

It's okay, I think. One candle goes out, another ignites.