I am descending deep through the mind, through the head, I am falling through blackness.
There was a force, violence, a collision, demolition, destruction, calamity. I was wrest forward, I was crunched, smashed, ruined. There was blood. Blood exited my body, blood was outside my body, organs were lying outside my body. It was agony. Torture. Now I am falling, and I am not in pain. It does not hurt. I feel and sense nothing.

"Coma." I percieve the word over and over as I fall. It echos, surrounds me like a smooth, sweet, soft blanket. "Coma."

"She won't wake up. She'll never wake up."

I'm happy as I hear these words. I don't want to wake up. This endless, infinite blackness is nice. There is no thought, no emotion, no questioning, no memories. No pain. There's no pain.

"Her mind is not communicating with her body. No, it's more than that. The subconscious is not communicating with the rest of the brain. No, it's hard to explain. We can't explain it."

I never liked my conscious anyway. It always bugged me, always gave me bad thoughts. Always gave me pain. I could do away with my conscious any day. It made me hurt.

I. I?

Who am I? Don't know. Don't care. What is caring? No more questions.

Falling, blackness. There's blackness. Words are leaving, vocabulary leaving. Thought leaving, memories leaving, conscious leaving.

Lost.

"She's dead."