Fourteen years old is far too young to find out what death tastes like, but I remember it. Vividly. In
case you’re wondering, it tastes bitter — although when giving
mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a dying man whose body’s last gasp is
foaming at the mouth, it’s hard to differentiate between the taste and
the smell and the visual. It, like the memory, just sort of all blends
together. Regardless, it was far too young. I was far too young. Remember
when they told us that a brain on drugs looks like a frying egg? I can
tell you first hand, that’s not what it looks like. It’s far more disturbing than that. It’s much more grotesque.
-Medium
