[ WP ] Everyone knows the exact time and date of their death . Your date has passed , but nothing happened .

They say you die twice; Once when you breathe your last breath, and once when your name is last spoken. 
 
 Benjamin Franklin said those words, and I wish I could say he was wrong. Here I sit, in an empty room with gray, dull walls, without a hint of sunlight or the world outside in any corner of the room. I'd been in here for months, a shut-in to the world beyond my door, which stood just feet in front of me, taunting and daring me to go out and see what the world would say about the pathetic husk I've become. 
 
 It was 2:34 and 17 second past that it came to me -- I'd never go out that door, and I'd never leave the clutches I'd found myself in. I knew in that moment that no one else would ever speak my name. It did n't matter what I had done at that point; I was dead, in every sense of the word that mattered. No memory of me would remain, no amount of yelling and begging for the world to say my name would ever save me. 
 
 I began to crumple to the floor, and knew that this was the end. I could feel the indifference in the air, pounding and pushing down on me. I had failed to make my mark, to make any change. 
 
 There I lay, on the ground of my room, pristine from the world beyond my own. It would stay this way for weeks, until someone down the hall noticed the smell. There I lay, begging myself to scream my name to the world while chastising myself for not knowing better. Nothing I could say or do would stop the inevitable.
