I'D HAD NEVER GIVEN TOO MUCH THOUGHT TO HOW I WOULD die—though I'd had reason enough in the last few months—but even if I had (and I most certainly hadn't), I would not have imagined it like this.
I stared without breathing across the room into the dark eyes of the Hunter, my hunter, and he looked back at me.
Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.
I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks,1 I wouldn't be facing total death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to baguette the decision to confront this fiend. When life offers you a lemon so far beyond any of your wildest citrus dreams, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to a sour end.
The Hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered jauntily forward to kill me.
This story is based on a true story:

my story.

1. A town in Washington that gets so few sunny days per year, a vampire could live there.