The day she stopped breathing, the world moved on.

Out in the forest, birds trilling on branches as leaves drifted to the soil; woodland animals snapping sticks and disturbing bushes, at home amongst the mushrooms and trees. That was where she died.

The world had no more use for her. She lived by each day simply a hollowed out being; stationary, no desire to move. A husk of a human. The wind pushed her in the directions she vaguely wanted to go. An entity totally at the whim of the universe.

And the universe had decided that it was done playing with her.

In this world I loathe, I'm sure they'll do just fine without me.

A towering oak tree, the pride of the forest. Bark coarse and rough, but welcoming and comforting all the same. Roots spiderwebbing out from the base, soon thinning and delving deep into the earth. That was where she would die.

She eased herself down against the base, a sight for sore eyes. Clothes battered with dirt and torn carelessly, hair atussle and decorated with twigs and leaves like clips and ribbons. She looked a mess. A shame that she had to die in such a state, but she had long lost the energy to regard how she appeared to others.

She lay, staring up at the leaves interlocking high overhead. Powerful, thick branches held aloft by the strong oak to provide shade and beauty and glory. The dirt was damp on her clothes, against her skin. She listened to the insects.

The roots of the tree surrounded her laying figure. They moved and creaked slowly, but surely. 

She closed her eyes.

The oak's roots gently set to her, weaving over themselves as they collapsed onto her body. The dirt trickled upwards into her sleeves. The leaves shook and settled onto her head.

The earth welcomed her in. She sunk through.

Let me go under, until I can't breathe right.

Her loss a total nothing to the world. Reclaimed by the forest, by the nature of whence she came. All of her efforts coming up naught. All of the desire sucked out of her, burned her and singed her. The only way she could make it stop tearing her into strips day after day, night after night. 
This is how she was dying.

Like being immersed in a pool of water, she sank into the world that cared nothing about her. She couldn't breathe. It was a peaceful death. At least it was when compared to the blazing numbness of living.

She stopped breathing. The world moved on.

In her absence, maybe something beautiful could be made. Maybe flowers could sprout from where she was consumed.