Birds.

Government spies.

Spiders.

Easily dominated with a plastic cup.

All things Kathy fears.

And now, her deepest and darkest fear is introduced.

*Dying alone.

What she fears the most out of everything she has to live with.

At 10:00 AM, we shower Kathy with treats and candy, golden and white balloons, homemade cards, gift boxes and golden tulips.

We crowd around her bed with shining eyes and grinning faces, as she takes it all in, completely unaware of what will take place in an hour during the present opening. 

(Part 2) 

Kathy is now 19 years old.

She wasn't in college when she was 18 because that's when her hallucinations started.

And I just thought she was taking a gap year.

She is planning on attending college this year to become a professional photographer at the University of Minnesota.

She is convinced that she will know how to control her hallucinations, and if one does hit her, she will so-called "handle it herself".

Sorry, Kathy.

It's not happening.

Today's the day.

Today.

Is your doomsday.

Sorry.

I know you have (had) big dreams.

I do too.

Don't we all?

This is how it happened.

Again:

Sorry. 

(Part 3)

Hello.

Please understand; I hate to interrupt this alternate universe you've wandered into.

But that is my job.

This is: An excerpt from (only in slanted font) "The Book Thief", which represents this character perfectly:

Of course, an introduction.

A beginning.

Where are my manners?

I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary.

You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables.

Do you recognize this character?

Dear friend, you will soon enough.

Though I won't keep you waiting.

No, no, you are a fellow to befriend.

This character is worse than the hallucinations themself.

This character.

Is Death himself.

A question for the hallucinations: What color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?

It will be white when Death comes for Kathy.

Yes dear reader, as you should have already guessed; our dear friend Kathleen Anna Churchill will soon pass.

But what you don't know is how tragic her passing will be.

Here's a tip: Re-read Chapter 23 - Part 1. Her *real fear should reveal that tragedy.

The sky will be white.

White as a freshly fallen clump of snow atop of a dead rose bush.

How pleasant.

The color white.

Of the blinding sort.

Some of you may not think that white is a color.

I beg to differ.

I beg on my trembling hands and chapped knees.

White is without question; a color, and personally, I don't think you want to argue with me.

Please, be calm, despite that previous threat. I am all bluster - I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result.

Yes, it was white.

As you might expect, someone had died.

This is: Death's P.O.V.

Stupid, emotional, obsessive little Kathleen. 

This is: Nina's (my) P.O.V.

Perfect, generous, likable Kathy.

What did she ever do to deserve this?

Did she ever say she doesn't believe in God?

Has she sinned?

Is this my fault?

Did I bring this upon her?

No.

This had nothing to do with me.

This had nothing to do with her wrongdoing.

This had something to do with Death.

And Death.

Will.

Pay.

(Part 4) 

It's 11:00 AM.

Doom time.

Death is close.

Yes.

He is very close now.

I can hear his hollow footsteps echoing down the brightly lit hallways of the corridors outside of Kathy's hospital room.

Each of his footsteps is heavy with the weight of the deaths he has to carry on his shoulders.

He is close enough that I can pick up his scent beside Kathy's bed when she is opening the pink jewelry box containing the silver charm bracelet I gave her.

He gives off dirt, cemetery, sweat, and dead rose fumes.

But most of all.

He smells like the grief of the deceased and death itself.

Not death himself.

I mean death itself.

Hold on.

Wait.

His footsteps cut off.

I can't hear the echo of the wailing, tampered footsteps.

I see Kathy sense something off in the air.

She turns her head to where I am looking and only sees what I see because she suffers from the same brain tempering disease I suffer from.

I hear her say to no one in particular, but at the same time, she asks only me this question; "Who's that?"

Her words bounce off of the walls and everything is silent.

That's when the screaming begins.

He's here. 

(Part 5) 

The man himself. 

Death himself. 

He's carrying a sickle and a scythe to a hospital room, of all places. 

Handfuls of sorrow can make anyone frown. 

But it cannot make them forget. 

Here he comes. 

(Part 6)

I see Kathy swivel her head back around. 

Her eyes shining. 

The look of pure lust of the untimely events and pure terror show in her expression. 

If it's possible, I fall upward, out of the chair I am sitting in. 

There is a small groan, but not from anyone in the room. 

It's from Death. 

The king of Evil. 

And I am pushed backward. 

I fall. 

I drop back into the chair. 

Kept there by an invisible force. 

"Nini?" 

Conor. 

It takes a lot of effort to turn my head and look into Conor's eyes. But I do it for all of our sakes. 

"Conor, its-" I begin, but Kathy cuts me off. 

"The, the, the, th- THE BIRDS! THE SPIES!" she screams. 

Oh no. 

"THE SPIDERS!" she screams. 

No. 

"The signs... I'm gone..." she croaks out. 

Unable to speak because Death has made his move. Making his way towards Kathy. 

He lunges over me, still unable to move in the chair I am stabilized in. 

My family and Kathy's seems to have gone into a trance. None of them moving. Not even Raymond. Poor, desperate Raymond. Always there to save Kathy. 

Not anymore. 

Now, he is helpless to the case. 

As am I. 

And then there was Conor. 

Also not able to move. 

Death must have cut him off from Kathy as well. 

I see his eyes moving frantically underneath his closed eyelids and realize that everyone else has their eyelids closed as well. 

As if they were forced shut with tape. 

As if they were sealed closed with glue. 

All except for my eyes. 

My lids are open. 

I can see everything. 

I attempt to close them. 

Nothing happens. 

I try again, to blink. To do anything with my eyes to make them close shut. 

Nothing. 

Oh. 

Now I realize what Death wants me to go through. 

He wants me to witness what he is doing to Kathy. 

And what I see. Will haunt me until I inhale and exhale for my final time. 

All five of Death's ghostly pale fingers of his bony right hand wrap around her throat. 

And cut off her airway. 

Kathy gasps. 

And doesn't inhale any air. 

Nothing enters or exits her airway. 

She attempts to cough. 

Same result. 

I feel the burn of tears forming in the corners of my eye sockets. 

I feel the heat of them trailing down the sides of my face, my cheeks, my nose, off of my trembling chin, and run down the outside of my clogged throat. 

I scream. 

I scream louder than I have ever screamed before. 

I scream longer than I have ever made any sound in my entire life. 

I scream for Kathy. 

I scream for my mom, for Amanda and Brad, and I scream for Raymond and Conor. 

Every second, seems like a whole lifetime. 

Every lifetime, feels like an entire eternity. 

Every eternity feels like every soul that has ever died. 

And I feel pity. 

I feel grief. 

But most of all; I feel Kathleen Anna Churchill. 

I feel her pain. 

I feel my own. 

And I feel her grief. 

And it just makes me stronger. 

Though, it might make her weaker. 

I summon every ounce of strength that I have left in my entire body. 

And I launch myself at Death's cloaked back. 

And I fall right through him, and I hear him go; "Ha-Ha!" on top of Kathy, and I hear him go; "Oomph!" 

Which makes his grip on Kathy's throat loosen, just enough that I actually believe that I can touch him like he is a solid being, and I wrench his hand off of Kathy. 

Death trots out of the room cradling his hand and speaks to me, very clearly, sewing out every word over his shoulder as they land somewhere by my feet which are now resting on the tiled floor; "Just you wait, I will be back. I will. Very soon, in fact, you will rest your filthy eyes on my glorious body once again. Yes, very soon indeed." 

I see that everyone else in the room has their eyes open. 

They can see, as can I. 

But they can't move. 

They are now in the state I was just in. 

I turn my full attention to Kathy. 

And discover that she is not breathing. 

I check her pulse. 

No pulse. 

The doctors rush in, already aware, just in a daze. 

They perform CPR and Rescue Breaths on her, while I am told to stand by. 

Why didn't I pay better attention in my Health class? 

If I had paid better attention in Health class, I could be CPR Certified right now, and could be helping to save her. 

(Part 7)

An hour later I am sitting in the waiting room with my mom and Conor. 

Amanda, Brad, and Raymond are all still in the hospital room with Kathy.

As of now. 

She is in Cardiac Arrest. 

As of later. 

I don't know. 

My eyes are red and swollen from sobbing. 

Conor has had his arm around me the entire time, and my mom is holding both of my hands on her lap. 

They both are telling me over and over; "Nina, honey, it's not your fault." 

I don't believe them. 

She's not even dead yet. 

Half an hour later, Kathy's parents and Raymond join us. 

Kathy will live. 

Or so they thought. 

That night, at approximately 11:30 PM, Kathy passed away. 

In her hospital room, in her pathetic bed. 

Alone. 

Like she has always feared. 

You can imagine my reaction. 

Hallucinating, screaming, crying, blaming myself, cursing, and literally losing my mind. 

That sort of thing. 

The Death of a loved one is a hard time to go through. 

In a way, she didn't really die alone. 

Death was there. 

Who am I kidding? 

You guys? 

Death didn't give a shit about Kathy. 

She did, indeed, die alone. 

Goodbye, Kathy. 

Goodbye, Kathleen Anna Churchill. 

Look upon her beautiful face with grief. 

If you refuse to feel her pain coming in gusts of wind off of her stiff, unmoving body; then you are an absolute, and complete piece of shit.

I have to allow myself (and you must allow me to say this as well) one more time to say: "I'm sorry". 

Though, I cannot guarantee that I won't repeat those two words of apology more than once throughout the remainder of my story; Hallucinations.