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Sitting here thinking, I recall the time of my death. It happened in 1922 in Ashtown, a suburb of Dubblin. I had spent most of the night at the local pub after my last love had passed from a sickness. I stumbled out into the cobblestone street after the pub closed, and walked aimlessly through the night for hours. Please forgive me if my recollections are a bit foggy but it was over 100 years ago and I was drunk. I will do my best to tell you in all the detail that I can remember of the following events. I remember that it was cold, as it usually is in the wee Irish mornings. My breath hung in the air like air pockets frozen in water. The stones in the street glistened with frost, the moonlight reflecting off of them like thousands of diamonds lay strung over my path. Then everything went black. I don't know whether the ale had finally caught up to me and I passed out, but I awoke in the street. A stranger came and helped me to my feet, I am unable to recall his name, but I remember it was a very old name. He told me that he could make my pain go away, and that he could give me a life where I would never feel it again. Intrigued by the thought of this, I asked him how he could possibly do this. But then as quickly as he had came he had vanished. All of a sudden, I had felt a pain that I will try my best to describe. It felt as if somebody had stabbed me in my neck with a red-hot fire poker. The burning sensation was so eminence that my vision went black. The pain then radiated to my brain. Then it felt as if my whole body was on fire...the worst pain I had ever felt. My heart was pounding inside my chest. Then all of a sudden it had stopped. The pain, the blindness, had all just stopped. It no longer felt cold to me.