Out of all the things to suffer through on a Sunday morning, dying wasn't exactly the most popular choice. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Phroen was now stuck doing.
To be clear, it wasn't as if he had decided on going through this particularly enriching activity; it just happened. One second he was fit and fine, and the next he was sprawled on the road, with a numbing pain spreading through his abdomen.
The morning had started off dismal and gray, soon developing into heavy rains. As of now, he could feel tiny droplets of the cold water on his face. Not exactly a novel experience.
All in all, not an ideal morning. Despite the fact that he was quite obviously about to die from the impact of the car crash, the traffic around him seemed utterly indifferent, with car horns still blaring as loud as ever.
It was all a messy blur; his glasses had shattered, leaving the world to be a wonderful mix of dull hues that would have sold for millions if made into an abstract artwork. Dimly, he did register hands gripping his body, trying to get him to sit up.
Not that there was much use. Screams faded into the distance, as Phroen absently thumbed the blood on his midriff. Strangely enough, he didn't feel any sadness or fear. His brain seemed to have come to terms with the fact that he was about to die, and that didn't really bother him much.
The world was spinning as the edges of his vision slowly darkened. Faces appeared in front of him, and they seemed to speak, but Phroen couldn't make out a word.
A fitting end, he thought. A meaningless death for a meaningless life, truly a perfect trade. He wondered how many people were going to show up to his funeral. Perhaps two? His sister could surely set aside some time for something this major, certainly? Or perhaps she would just send her assistant yet again.
At least, he hoped they would be as kind as to not place carnations on his grave. He never particularly liked their scent.
Surely, the dead deserved that much, right?