She died where she fell. Her final thoughts had been a mixture of grief, remorse, and unfocused pleas for forgiveness.

“Can you be damned for something that hasn’t occurred yet? Can you be forgiven for something you haven’t finished?” She had asked. The preacher had no answers and she had no more details to share. He might try to stop her.

The whiskey burned as it went down. It burned, but the liquid fire flushed the pills from her throat. Shoved them inside a wall of spirits into her stomach. The pills dissolved and her system began to slow.

“Is death the final sleep or the first awakening?” She had asked an old man in the park.

“You’re too young to think about such things, child.” He said, patting her shoulder. "Just enjoy your youth while you still have it.

She could feel her heart laboring as her breathing slowed, as her mind slowed, and as her time wound down to nothing. She passed while begging for forgiveness and hoping that she could be absolved of this final, supposedly unforgivable, sin.