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Death was always a very common part of life for me. I had developed a habit of playing with Death almost every day. I played with her needles, her bottles, her tongue and her cheek. The thought of Death gave me a warm and comforting feeling of salvation and security. Death is a mother to us all. A very abusive and apathetic mother.

A common misconception is that my affair with Death was consensual, when in fact it was more like date rape. I was interested, yes, but still not ready, and she knew that. But that didn't stop her from forcing me on my knees and ramming a shotgun down my throat.

I know I shouldn't have even been home, but rehab wasn't really my cup of tea. All the other junkies were either shaking in the corner or hallucinating or kicking and screaming like children who just figured out they're getting a shot. On top of that, I just wanted to be alone for a while.

So I retreated into the greenhouse above my garage and thought about what my next move would be. It was defiantly time to move on from Nirvana, I think Dave and Krist could see it coming too. So I wrote a letter, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a goodbye letter, and how I felt about things. Nothing more. But I guess the press can always find a way to twist your words around and give them a completely different meaning.

Around that time I felt the presence of another human in the room with me. I guess I forgot to lock the door. I didn't have to turn around to know it was a big guy. I could smell his gay-bashing masculinity like it was a new brand of cologne. For a few minutes I just sat there, frozen, until I heard him cock his gun.

I spun around only to be greeted by the barrel of a shotgun inches away from my face. The room was too dark to make out any key features of the gorilla looming over me. I was caught off guard, unarmed, and still pretty weak from withdrawal. My only choice in those year-long minutes was to accept my impending death. I closed my eyes and croaked out my last word: "Why?"

My answer was a crack of thunder and a thick shower of blood, followed by dead silence. But I'm not done. I will still be heard. My screams will echo across this earth until the end of time. It amazes me, the will of instinct.




- Kurdt Cobain

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