Two Thirds to Heaven

Imagine something as innocent as walking across the street to go to a store.

As you're walking along, you hear shouts. And you don't think twice.

But you realise that every ounce of sound has more panic in each second than the last.

And as you turn to see what the commotion is all about, it hits you.

The car.

It hits you.

All you can remember is the bright circular lights, the panic, the sound of your bones cracking into pieces as you go crashing down onto the car's hood and the car smashes into a nearby wall.

You're lying on the tarmac, warmth pouring out of your nose, forehead, stomach. Hell, there's blood everywhere. But weirdly enough, you don't feel it.

You don't feel any pain at all.

You're stuck somewhere between life and death, holding on by a thread. And you can't even think. You can feel the hardness of the road, the sharpness of the glass, the moisture of the blood. You can feel where your skin is cold because of the night's breeze, and where your arm has been ripped open from the mangled wreck of a car, and you can feel the wind flapping the skin, back and forth, back and forth.

But you can't grasp it.

You can't understand that this is happening, you are dying.

And you will die if nobody calls for help soon.

You can feel your body drifting, you can hear the shouts from the sidewalk.

Your head aches, and nothing will keep still. The sharp pain behind your eyes becomes unbearable, and you decide, maybe its not such a bad idea to close them.

You hear voices, but you don't understand them, they sound further away as each moment passes.

The pain behind your eyes is going, it's getting better, as you slowly drift into unconsciousness.

There's nothing worth putting in the effort to understand during your last few seconds.

You close your eyes and find out later on, that you didn't ever open them again.