Penelope's POV
People always say that before death comes, your life flashes before your eyes. As I watched that massive truck barreling toward me, about to crush my body, all my lost memories came flooding back like an avalanche. But strangely, among all those snowflakes of memory, the brightest weren't of family or friends—they were of Elda.
Elda once told me she had abandoned God after her death. I knew the "her" she referred to was her girlfriend. Elda never spoke about her, except once—shortly after arriving in Florida, she overdosed, and I had to rush her to the hospital to get her stomach pumped.
She was delirious, writhing in pain, her tear-streaked face never drying. She clutched my hand, murmuring incoherently. It took me a while in the ambulance to realize she was repeating two words over and over: "Elda" and "Avici."
She said she lived in Avici.
