Somehow, I've ended up in a situation where I'm about to die.

What I see before me is a vast field of flowers and a single swing hanging from a cherry blossom tree.

If this scenery weren't a ghost story, I might have gasped in admiration; it is quite a sight, after all.

Beneath the flowers piercing my one eye, crimson blood trickled down my cheek and fell onto the flowers in the field.

I walked over to the swing, sat down, and closed my eyes.

The wind brushed past the tip of my nose. I could smell my own blood, but it was soon masked by the scent of flowers.

Isn't a human dying just like a flower withering—a law of nature?

It's also true that this is much better than being torn apart by a ghost story.

Seeing as I'm thinking things I usually wouldn't, the contamination must be severe.

I just wanted to escape reality right now.

I thought that simply closing my eyes comfortably here... would be euthanasia.