There are no good ways to die, period. People will go and say things like he had a good death, it was easy, painful, quick, during his sleep. Death is always just that – the end of life, the end of a presence.
A. looked at the calm, unmoving eyes of a man. He was dead.
On his chest blood seeping from two identical bullet holes was painting pretty flowers. Cold, eerie light of the morning sun kissed the still figure.
A. was hiding, waiting. They had to come to collect the body. She just had to patiently wait for the opportune moment.