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Cobalt by Enom Fon and Dara Mortel.

Episode 3

Never gone on a cruise.

Never gotten a tattoo.

Never travelled around Asia.

I haven't run a marathon or donated blood or won any awards.

I don't even speak another language.

I've not been to the top of the Empire State Building or gone bungee jumping

or had one of those nights out where you see a stranger across the room

and you both stare at each other until the music fades and everyone around you starts dancing in slow motion

because that's what happens when you're in love. I think. I don't know. I've never, this is it, isn't it?

That was right. When you're about to die, your life doesn't flash before your eyes. It's all of this.

All of these never-haves and will never get to-dos. There's no best bits, no highlight real. And even if there was,

what would I have to show? Graduation day, picking up a very average two-two from a university

that's not even a Russell group, my two-month relationship in college and all the failed

talking stages after that, or that time I split up a fight in the school canteen and got crowned

TA of the month. Or is it this? Travelling across the world to find my dad but dying even before I get to him. My tombstone, if mum doesn't cremate me and scatter my ashes in the garden next to her rose bushes, would read, here lies Maita, who failed at the one thing she ever really tried. I can see it. Mom and Tony come to visit standing over my grave.

Mum's sobbing. Tony's got his arm around her. They toss a bouquet on me and go back home.

I see colleagues, friends, strangers who read the headlines and came to see the young British

woman kidnapped and killed in Zimbabwe. They're all there, except my dad, who's still missing, and from six

feet beneath the earth, I'm still screaming. Where are you? Dad, where are you?

...